


Cicada Shell

by PlumTea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternative Universe - Fate, Expect just about everyone to appear, F/F, Gen, M/M, Tags Will Update As Story Progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-10 13:49:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: Magic doesn't exist- Yachi is certain of that, at the very least. If that's true, then what's all this about a giant fight to the death? And why is this boy that's floating in the air telling her that she's now part of it?One thing is for sure: He's not going away, and neither is the gruesome tattoo that suddenly appeared on her hand.





	1. Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Graww](http://www.grawwbear.tumblr.com) and [Amanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyharlot/pseuds/candyharlot) for editing this!  
> If you don't know anything about the Fate-verse, that's fine-- I'll do my best to explain all the necessary details. In the meantime, enjoy!  
> 

Empty lunch container? Check. Folded uniform? Check. A quick glance to see if any angry customers are lurking outside the exit? Nobody’s on the streets. Check.

Yachi works right by the train station, but she makes it a habit to pick up groceries right before she goes home. She’d written the list down at least three times on her lunch break, but it’s still a blur in her head.

Scallion, some beef, mushrooms, milk. She picks them up in a haze, checks out, and exits into the cool winter air. 

If she goes fast, she can get to the station in ten minutes. Seven, if she sprints. Normally, the fear of possibly encountering any disgruntled customers from the day would have sent her speeding, but she is so, so tired. Three large shipments came into the store earlier that day, and it was after a long weekend shift too. After a while, she’d lost count of how many hours she went without sitting. The balls of her feet are warm and sore. She needs to take a long, hot bath, and maybe put on some salonpas.

She can make it home. Then she can collapse on her soft bed and sleep the night away.

It’s a perfectly clear evening and there’s no mist in the skies, but it feels like the world’s been washed over with dark water. This is her regular route, empty except for the occasional stray cat, but it doesn’t feel familiar. Someone left their trash out on the sidewalk. There are a lot of stores around here, and the garbage collectors come by in the morning to collect trash, but the shopkeepers don’t usually leave a mess.

It becomes hard to breathe. That’s not a garbage bag, that’s a person.

His crumpled coat looks like a bag under the streetlight, and with how he’s curled up like that, he doesn’t look human. A homeless man, maybe? Most of the homeless people in the neighborhood keep to themselves, but she really doesn’t want to strike up a conversation. It’s hard not to look, but she screws her gaze straight ahead and walks stiffly past.

Keep on going. Keep on going.

He’s crawling towards her. It’s not her problem. If she helps, who knows what she’s getting herself into? She could get kidnapped or murdered! They make eye contact, and she quickly looks away. He’s dragging a stain behind him and she realizes—

—That’s blood.

Her phone, where is her phone? As she digs into her bag, she can’t feel it. Pens, wallet, keys, no phone.

“P-Police! Ambulance! Someone!”

No matter how loudly she screams, not a single person comes by. In the back of her mind, she knows that nobody would arrive. She specifically chose this route because there was never anyone else around! But the man clearly needs help. Should she run to the intersection? Should she empty her bag and hope her phone was just stuck under something? “I’ll get help!” she insists. “Just stay there!” Of course he’d stay there! He was injured!

“Wait!” His voice sounds like crunching gravel. “Please… please wait!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know any first aid! I’ll be quick, I promise—”

“No! It has to be—” When he rolls over with a groan, she can see the blood soaking his jacket. He produces a box with a slip of paper tucked under its elastic seal. “The address… is on there. The paper. She needs this right away.” He holds it out to her, and with how badly his arm is shaking, it looks like he's about to drop it at any moment. “Please… take this to her!”

There’s nobody coming down the block. It’s too suspicious. What if he was delivering something like guns or drugs? Or a key to a locker where a corpse is being kept?

“I’m really in a hurry…”

“Please!”

Yachi swallows.

Who knows how he was hurt? What if he was yakuza, or had been part of a heist? Who’s to say that the person who hurt him isn’t still around? But at the same time, why was he alone? If she doesn't do something, who would? This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

With shaking hands, she takes the box.

“Thank you! Thank…” He trades his words for a puddle of blood. 

“I’ll deliver this, but— but just stay there while I call the police!”

“No! Don’t worry about me… just… just go to that address. Hurry!”

“But—”

“Please! Go!”

She runs.

Only when she’s passed a few streets does she realize that she should probably check where she’s going. She finds her phone tangled in her handkerchief, never around when she needs it. It says her destination is only a five minute walk. It’s away from the train station, but it shouldn’t be too much of a detour. All she has to do is deliver this box, and then go home.

An explosion goes off behind her. No, that’s not right- it sounds more like something large being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. She’s not sticking around to find out.

Running makes her chest hurt. There’s a sharp pain under the right side of her ribcage, like there’s a small knife stuck there. Her knees are getting sore, and she slows her pace to a brisk jog. The situation is still urgent, but her body feels like a crumpled piece of paper.

Looking around, she has no idea where she is. The bars on her phone are nonexistent— this must be a dead zone. There’s a man by the corner. He’s looking around, and it seems like he’s waiting for something. His hair is thinning, and he’s dressed in a gray suit. There’s a sternness in his expression that makes her want to wait until another person happens to walk by, but this is an emergency. The sooner she gets this done, the sooner she can forget this ever happened.

“Excuse me?” she says, no louder than a whisper. He doesn’t turn around. She steps a little closer, but still maintains her distance. “Excuse me!” 

The man angles his head towards her, acknowledging her presence, but clearly not interested.

“Sorry, but do you know which direction the Sendai Station is?”

“A bit of a walk. Ten minutes that way,” he says, jamming a finger towards the right.

“Thank you.” She gives him a short bow, clutches the box to her chest, and starts to turn.

His eyes widen. “That box!”

Maybe she should walk. It’s less suspicious. Her walk turns into a jog, into a sprint, and she’s dashing down the street. Something whizzes past her. A telephone pole ahead of her warps and explodes, crashing down in front of her. A strangled yelp squeezes out of her throat, and she turns around.

Cold dread washes over her body.

The man is pointing at her, one hand on his arm to support it. There’s a glowing black sphere of light growing at the tip of his finger. It has to be a trick of the lamplight. Or something reflecting off the neon store signs. It just misses her. The dumpster nearby is punched clean through before it combusts. Garbage spills all over the street, and a coffee can hits Yachi’s head. It rolls on the ground before stopping at the curb.

She takes off running. Another bullet grazes her arm, burning through the fabric and turning the ends black. This isn’t happening. This seriously isn’t happening right now! This isn’t happening because this sort of stuff doesn’t happen in real life! Maybe in video games or movies, but not here! This is a safe country! Things like this just don’t happen!

A frenzied glance at her phone tells her that she’s going the right way. If she’s being followed, she sure isn’t going to stop here! There’s a garbage can on the corner, and she knocks it over as she passes by. It might slow him down, it might not, but she needs something at this point!

Her phone tells her that she’s arrived. Why an abandoned office, of all places? A clang of a garbage can rolling. He’s not far behind. Without a moment of hesitation, she dashes into the building.

It hasn’t been used in a long time. There’s a winding staircase leading up to the top level. “Is anyone there?” she yells. “Someone? Anyone? Please!”

A woman’s voice echoes from above. “Top floor!”

She wastes no time running to the staircase. The metal is slippery, and the ends are caked with dust, but she keeps on moving. A bullet of black light rockets into the ceiling, raining down chunks of plaster. She shrieks and covers her head, nearly dropping the box. Run, she has to run. Her mind is reminding her to go, go, go, but her legs are frozen in place. What will happen to her if she moves forward? What will happen if she turns back?

Come on! She forces her legs to move. Come on! Once she’s started, she can’t stop, even if her breath is shallow and she wants to scream. But she’s at the top floor now, and she doesn’t see anyone—

“In here!”

There’s a woman standing in a doorway nearby. She’s gorgeous, with long, dark hair, and a mole above her mouth. It’s hard to tell her age, but she can’t be that much older. When Yachi bolts into the room, the woman slams the door shut behind them. “Are you from the Association?” she asks, soft and pretty even through desperation.

“A man— there’s a man chasing me—”

“Barricade the door!”

Yachi doesn’t have to be told twice. The room seems to be an old meeting room, with overturned chairs and a few broken desks. She scrambles towards a broken desk and shoves it in front of the door.

“Do you have the catalyst?”

Catalyst? What’s— the package! She tears open the box, but inside there aren’t syringes, ampoules, or even some strange powder. A stone? It takes her a moment to process it, but it’s just an ordinary, smooth stone sitting on top of a layer of red velvet. A man was bleeding on the street for a stone? She was being chased for a stone?

“Pass it over!” comes the woman’s voice, urgent and desperate. She catches it when Yachi tosses it her way, and places the stone on top of a neatly arranged stack of chairs.

When Yachi sinks down to the floor, she sees something shimmering nearby. There’s an intricate pattern drawn with what looks like silver paint.

The woman straightens her back, holds out her right hand, outfitted with a dark bruise, and starts mumbling under her breath. The painted circle glows, first green, and then pure white. Yachi can’t look away, even if the light is burning her eyes. The bruise on the pretty woman’s hand lights up, and refines itself into a thin, shining tattoo. The breeze drifting through the room roars into a tornado.

Awe keeps Yachi’s feet rooted in place, but the rest of her is screaming to run. Is this CGI? Is she hallucinating? The slices of wind on her face feel real. Just one foot after the other. It would be easy—

A burst of energy rockets through the door, and Yachi drops to the ground with a shriek. One after another they rip into the room, barely missing the woman. The woman doesn’t even flinch. She keeps her eyes closed, still chanting those strange words.

The door is punctured clean through, enough to leave a gaping hole. With a grunt, her pursuer leaps into the room. He looks at Yachi first, and then at the beautiful woman facing the circle, murmuring some unknown words under her breath. Energy collects in the middle of the circle, into a small bright orb floating in midair.

“Not yet!” he hisses.

“—My call, protectors of the holy balance—”

Before she can finish her sentence, a black bullet rips through her outstretched hand. She stumbles forward with a shriek, her legs giving out from beneath her. What if she hits her head? What if she dies? What if—

Everything is rushing forward. No, only she is, diving, arms out, to catch the toppling woman.

The orb explodes. A searing gust of wind knocks them all backwards. The windows shatter, and the building trembles as a torrent of smoke whirls through the room.

Yachi can’t close her eyes. She’s still shaking on the ground. She’s alive, somehow. The solid feeling of the woman in her arms is still there.

Between the smoke and dust, there’s a silhouette, no, a young man is standing there. He’s not that much taller than she is, and he looks like he’s just endured a typhoon. His dark blue kimono and hakama are finely made and tipped with gold, but they’re all ragged and tattered. The spots where his family crest is supposed to be embroidered have been eaten away by moths. His fiery hair and traditional clothes are moving wispily on their own, like he’s fully submerged in water. Before she could wonder where he came from, she realizes with horror that his feet aren’t touching the ground. There’s a young man floating in midair, staring right at her.

“I ask of you, are you the Master who has summoned me?”

Yachi's mind is scrubbed clean. All she can do is gently set the unconscious woman down.

As the young man looks between the two women, his neutral expression melts into confusion. “Huh? This is a little… huh?”

“Just because you summoned your Servant—!” The man’s voice cuts through her thoughts. He grabs his arm, and points at them both. A black current runs across his finger and swells up into a bulb of energy.

Yachi squeaks. Her legs are useless. Before she can think of what else to do, she pulls the woman behind her. Seconds slow between her heartbeats. Of all the scenarios she imagined, this wasn’t one of the ways she figured she’d die.

Killed by an angry customer? Sure.

Stabbed by a serial killer? Perhaps.

But this is it. Vaporized by some bizarre magic.

The young man floats down in front of her, his robes billowing in the air. Gone is his smile, and his eyes have turned frigid. “What do you think you’re doing to my Master?”

A black bullet rockets towards them, just as the wind picks up.

Wind? In a closed room? But there was definitely a breeze ruffling her hair, getting stronger and growing into a whirlwind around them. The wind is cutting at her cheeks, and it hurts to keep her eyes open. The man is thrown back, smashed against the wall like he’s held in place by some invisible force. Gashes appear on his body, like the slices of wind are blades. He gives a pained grunt of resistance before a gust of wind tosses him effortlessly out the window, like discarding an old toy.

As the wind dies down, she doesn’t hear anything, not until the solid thump from below. From this height—

“Now that that’s taken care of... So! Which one of you is my Master?” He bends down towards her, poised like he’s leaning off some invisible ledge. She can feel his breath on her face, and his eyes are boring into her own. It feels like her stomach is about to fall out of her mouth.

“Is it you?”

If he doesn’t get an answer right away, is he going to pull up that awful wind again? Wave his hand and turn her into a pile of meat?

“Come on, tell me!” he whines, but all she hears is a command.

“—Yes!” she blurts out.

“You are? Okay! Then our contract is complete!” With a big smile on his face, the boy snaps up. “Although… that’s weird. Oh well, let’s fix that!”

Her blood is boiling, like hot metal is tracing her veins. The feeling only lasts for a few seconds, and when she checks her right hand, there’s a pattern etched onto it. It looks like a red chrysanthemum, but the color is too vibrant to be ink from a tattoo. When she touches it lightly, it stings. Just to make sure, she pulls the skin over her knuckles. The pattern shifts with her skin.

“That’s much better—” the young man starts, but his voice is eclipsed by Yachi’s scream.

“What is this? Get it off! I can’t have a tattoo! They’re going to think I’m a delinquent! What if the police see it? They might think I’m part of the yakuza! No more school! No more work!” She whirls around to look at the floating boy. “How did you give me a tattoo? And how did you get here? Why are you floating? Why—?”

He’s staring at her, confused. This is it, her life is over. They’re not going to let her walk away, not when there’s a pretty woman that can write glowing circles, and a young man that can make tornadoes with his mind.

“But you said you were my Master. You need Command Seals then, don’t you?”

“Command what?”

He cocks his head. “How come you don’t know this? What’s your name?”

“Y-Yachi. Yachi Hitoka.”

“Yachi…! A good name for my new Master!” It feels like he’s about to fall on top of her at any given moment, but he’s perfectly suspended in midair. “Thanks for summoning me! I thought I was going to be so bored there— I don’t get called out very often, you know!”

When she puts her hands up to distance herself, she accidentally pushes up against his collarbone. With a yelp, she pulls her hands back. Quickly sucking in a deep breath, she gathers what little strength she has left and tries to steady her voice. “I don’t know who you are, or what’s going on, and why are you calling me ‘Master’?”

The young man freezes. Realization slowly slides onto his face. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

She vehemently shakes her head.

“Oh… huh. I thought you were joking, but… mm. I don’t really know where to start.” The young man plops down, legs crossed, perfectly suspended in midair. She's half tempted to wave her hand beneath him to see if there were any wires, but her fingers are patches of ice stuck to the ground. “Hm… hm… okay, let’s start here. I’m no good at this sort of stuff but… alright, so! Those markings on your hand are called Command Seals. Proof that you have power over a Heroic Spirit, me! And that makes you qualified to fight for the Holy Grail!”

She's vaguely heard of the holy grail before, flipping through some of the books in the store on European mythology. A holy cup with the power to make miracles. “Like… the Holy Grail from myths?”

“Right! Exactly!"

"That exists?"

"Yep! And the great battle that magi fight in is called the Holy Grail War. Because the Holy Grail is amazing! It can grant any wish in the world— anything! Magi summon Heroic Spirits to act as Servants to fight in the War, and Servants are famous heroes throughout history. Think of— this is Japan, right? So think of a really famous person, if they want, a magi can summon them as a Servant. Servants and Masters make a faction, and each faction fights the others until only one is left standing. Or something like that? The rules are weird this time. It's basically a big team up free for all!”

He definitely isn’t human, not judging from how he can float in midair, and his clothes give no indication as to who he is. From his words, he’s no doubt some kind of incredible mythical figure.

—Except that’s completely and totally ridiculous!

“This can’t be real,” she mutters. “This can’t be real!”

That puts a frown on the young man’s face. He reaches forward and grabs one of her hands. “That’s not fair! I’m very, very real, see?”

His hand is solid. When she closes her eyes, she can still feel the chill on his skin, and a pulse surrounding him, like she's stuck her hand into deep water. He is… real. Does that mean that whatever nonsense he’s saying is real, too?

“Then— then who are you?”

“I was summoned as a Rider! My name is…” The young man freezes in place, the smile painted on his lips. His fingers slacken as he lets go of her hand. “I’m… I’m… huh?”

It doesn’t look like he’s about to get angry, so with a gulp, she asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I…” The young man hangs his head. “This is really embarrassing, but I… I don’t remember my True Name! I know my class is a Rider! And that you’re my Master! But beyond that…”

“Can’t you just make one up?”

“I could for talking with people but— right, you don’t know— you see, a Heroic Spirit’s True Name is really important! It’s everything we are, and one of the most important things to know! So to not have that is a really big problem!”

Hearing a ‘really big problem’ coming from this supposedly legendary person just makes her nauseous. If it’s nothing he can help with, then it’s nothing that she can help with either!

“Oh! What was your catalyst?”

“Catalyst?”

“You called directly for me! Didn’t you use something to summon me with?”

Her brain is a frazzled mess, but she manages to get her thoughts in order. The woman had the circle ready, but that was it. She wasn’t able to begin until—

The stone!

Scrambling towards the chair, she thrusts the stone into his hands. “It was this! I don’t know what exactly it is, but she acted like it was really important, so…”

That’s right, the woman! Whatever that black bullet was, it knocked her completely out. She still has a pulse, but she’s hardly stirring. For the first time, Yachi catches a glimpse at the woman’s wound. The dusty concrete is clearly visible through a window of blood and flesh and—

Bile hits her tongue. Breathe, breathe, breathe. The cold air rushing into her throat keeps down the nausea threatening to upend her stomach.

There’s a clean handkerchief in her bag somewhere, underneath her keys, old receipts and business cards. She frantically dumps everything in her bag onto the floor, snatching up the cotton handkerchief and tying the woman’s wound with it. It’s not enough to stop the bleeding, but at the very least it hopefully won’t get infected. As the white fabric slowly is spotted with red, Yachi wonders who this woman is. Why did she have this complicated circle set up in an abandoned building? Why did she want to participate in a battle royale?

When she looks at the young man, his eyes are twin voids. “I’ve felt this once before,” he mutters, “but when… where did I…” Wincing, he grabs his head, and the stone clatters to the floor.

She picks the stone back up and puts it in her pocket, but the distance doesn’t seem to be helping him. Even though he’s a complete stranger, he’s just as lost as she is. “If you want,” she gently offers, “I could give you a name, maybe?”

He looks up expectantly, and so, so hopeful. “You’d do that? Thank you! It won’t be my True Name, I know, but I really don’t want to be nameless!”

Now that she’s said it, she can’t take it back. Making an offer like this, what was she thinking? It took her three days to come up with the name for her old pets! Never mind a person! In the blank expanse of her mind, she recalls logging some customer information. One of them was really nice to her, what was his name—

“Hinata.”

He chews the name in his mouth. “‘Day’ and ‘direction’ makes a ‘sunny place’.” His smile is a ray of sunshine in the middle of a storm. “That’s great! I’ll cherish it!”

Out of all the stressful things she’s encountered today, at least she can say that Hinata’s smile fills her with ease. Her heart’s still racing, but it’s been slowed down, even by a fraction of a second.

She jumps when Hinata suddenly yells. “What time is it?”

Her phone is right beneath her keys, and reads 11:46.  She’s going to miss the last train at this rate!

“Hurry!” Hinata zooms into her face, making her yelp in surprise. “The others! We have to summon the others!”

“Oth- Others?”

“Yeah! Normally, this would never happen, but the rules of the War are different this time, so! You channel your energy directly to your Servant—me— right now, and I can summon other Servants for your faction. And we have to do it by midnight of the same day I’ve been summoned! If we don’t, we’re going to lose for sure!”

There’s an unconscious woman on the floor, and a young man floating in the air is telling her to summon _people_.

“I can’t do this!” she cries. “You’re asking for the impossible! I- I wasn’t even the person that summoned you in the first place!”

Hinata cocks his head. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does! Don’t you need— I don’t know, qualifications? I can’t even do card tricks!”

Hinata just points to her hand. “But if you don’t have magic, then the Command Seals wouldn’t have attached to you.”

The red lines on her hand are gruesome stains in the low light. No matter how many times she tries scrubbing them away, they refuse to budge.

Her head is spinning. She absolutely doesn’t understand, but if she quiets her heart for a moment, she can feel a second pulse running through her veins. It circles around her body, and then flows out towards Hinata. Maybe, just maybe, he’s onto something.

“How many?” she weakly asks.

“Probably around seven or eight?”

Seven or eight. Seven or eight other people. Seven or eight other people that she’s supposed to summon doing who-knows-what.

“So do you have any catalysts or are we doing this from scratch?”

She doesn’t have anything. She doesn’t know anything, and her head feels like it’s filled with helium. “I’m not a mage,” she squeaks.

"Of course you are! If you weren’t, you couldn’t have become a Master!”

“Please stop calling me that, please.”

“But that’s what you are?”

“Just… Just Yachi is fine.” She can barely think, and that’s without a strange young man making her feel like she’s in a host club or an otome game.

Hinata pouts, and crosses his arms. He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, but his eyes flicker to the moon outside. There’s not enough time, and if her life really depended on this…

“Are you still worried? That’s okay!” Hinata’s eyes are bright, even despite the worry inside them. “Even if you’re a novice magus, I’ll help out! I’m probably not a top-tier Servant, but there’s no way I’d let you down. Leave it to me!”

Why does he have so much confidence in her? But he’s determined to help her. And if she doesn’t at least try, then they’re going to be in a worse position.

“Then…” the words hurt to say, “where do I start?”

The intricately drawn circle on the ground catches her gaze. There’s no way that could have been drawn in a hurry. The woman had done her planning, and if she could prepare that, then she must have prepared for whatever the rest of this was, right?

Yachi spots a satchel in the corner and dives towards it. There are several carefully wrapped items inside. Please be catalysts, please be catalysts. As she unwraps them, she’s not sure what they’re supposed to be. A chip of a golden leaf. A scrap of a white fabric. The edge of a red cape. An old knife. A glowing engine that looks like it’s from the future. An old, yellowed scroll in what she thinks is Greek. A manuscript of some book in English.

“Put each one on here!” Hinata’s dragged over several broken chairs, and is setting them up around the circle.

She places each item on its own chair, and steps back. Nothing’s happening.

“Are you ready?”

She isn’t, not by any standard in the world, but Hinata’s eyes blaze with determination.

“I don’t know what to do,” she quietly admits. “It’s a-a summoning, right? Aren’t there words to use— spells to cast? Runes to write? People to sacrifice? If that’s the case, please don’t sacrifice me! I promise I’ll be useful!”

“It’s okay. I can just tell you the words.”

She feels a nudging in her mind, like she’s forgotten to do something. It’s probably just her nerves, but the voice persists. The muddiness slowly becomes clear and familiar and sounds exactly like Hinata-- but his lips aren’t moving.

When she skitters back, Hinata pauses. “Did I push too hard?”

“P-Push?”

“I figured if you didn’t know what to say, I could help. I don’t remember who I am, but I know how the Grail works. And I know what words you mages use to call me.”

The woman spoke too quietly when she made the circle glow the first time. There’s no way Yachi could have made out the entire incantation. Timidly, she nods.

Hinata grins. “Then let’s go! Just repeat what I say!”

What if she messes up? What if she says the wrong thing? What if—

His voice rings in her head loud and clear. Energetic, but reassuring. She can do this. She can do this.

Probably.

“L-Let silver and iron be the origin. Let gem and the archduke of contracts be the cornerstone. Let my praise and tribute go to 『the crows』.”

The circle is lighting up. The same gust from before picks up and whirls around the room.

“Let the rising wind become a wall. Let the gates in the four directions close. Let the three-forked road from the kingdom rotate.

“Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Destroy once fulfilled.”

The circle is so blindingly bright, it hurts to look at it. Energy is surging across her tattoo, lighting her blood on fire, and she yells, “—I declare. Your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate is with your sword! Submit to the call of the Holy Grail! If you abide by this will, this reason, then answer!”

Hinata urges her forward, and she shouts out the words he whispers in her head. “I swear this oath! I shall become the virtue of the land of the dead! I shall destroy the evils of the land of the dead!”

“In the name of—“ Hinata pauses, “—in my name! Arise, heroes who have changed the world! Come, come forth and fight!”

Their voices intermingle into one. “From the seventh heaven, clad in three words of power, come from the ring of suppression, protectors of the holy balance!”

A blinding light swallows her vision. Even though she feels like she’s in the middle of a hurricane, her feet remain on the ground. Yet, she could still feel Hinata’s presence.

When the light fades and the wind dies down, silhouettes are staining her eyes. Where there was nothing but a circle with unreadable text stands eight people, each dressed so differently than the next.

Eight new faces. Eight heroes.

There’s probably something impressive to say, like how incredible it was that all these apparently legendary people are standing in front of her, or that she managed to do something as absurd as _magic_. Instead, all that comes out of her mouth is, “There’s so many of you…”

A lump in her throat forces her lips closed. Of course there’s a lot of them, and that’s the first thing she decides to say?

“Yes. And united,” answers one of the heroes, a firm, dark-haired man clad in bronze armor. He steps out of the circle, the red mantle over his shoulder sweeping the floor, and through his politeness lies undeniable strength. “And of course, our allegiance lies with Karasuno.”

Crow field? She has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. Probably some other magical nonsense. If the Spirit knows but she doesn’t— she’s going to seem even more like a fool than she already does. It’s hopeless. She looks at the tattoos on her hand. There’s a strong current pulsing through her body. She was just repeating what Hinata told her, but the new people in the room are undeniably solid. No trick of the light, no hidden projectors, nothing.

Hinata jumps out from behind her, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are any of you Riders too?”

The hero that spoke before nods. “That would be me.”

Hinata visibly deflates. “There goes my dream of being the only Rider on the team…”

“Normally, you’d be right.” It’s a young man with kind eyes that speaks up. He’s clad in all blue, with silver armor the same color as his fluffy hair. In his hand is a large flag, tightly rolled up around the pole and secured with golden cord. “But this is an unusual Holy Grail War. The rules have been tampered with, so it wouldn’t be surprising if the Grail allowed several Servants in the same class in one faction. But as long as the core rules are followed, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

His words fill her with ease. This person seems to clearly know the rules. That makes at least one of them. “That’s— that’s a relief. Oh, introductions. Introductions!” She makes her spine as straight as possible, and sucks in a deep breath. “I-I’m Yachi Hitoka! I will be serving as your um, your M— don’t make me say it! During this thing! Even if I don’t know what’s going on, or how this works!” She dips into a deep bow. “Please take care of me!”

The silence that greets her sends chills down her neck. All she did was introduce herself. It’s not the end of the world. At least, that’s what she tells herself for a moment before her worries come pouring back in. Of course just a simple introduction wouldn’t be enough! Why would it be? She doesn’t need to be the smartest person in the world to know that she’s woefully unqualified, and—

“I thought we’d introduce ourselves, but you seem a little overwhelmed.” The man in bronze armor speaks, and his voice straightens her back. While his voice is steady, there’s an undeniable vein of power flowing through it. He has to be some kind of great warrior, or a powerful king.

“I— I’m used to large crowds, but…” Her eyes dart around. They’re all still looking at her. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Hinata lets out a yelp. “Don’t! Please don’t! Ah, um, one of you Casters! Do you have something that can help?”

“No,” flatly replies a tall man shrouded in a long, hooded robe. There’s an unpleasant expression behind the glasses fitted on his nose.

The freckled boy next to him is so bright in comparison, even with his fancy black clothes. “I don’t know if it’ll help, but I can try making something!” He presses his palms against the thick book in his hands, and opens it. With a pop of pink smoke, a porcelain cup appears atop the open pages. There’s some steaming brown liquid inside, and her nose catches a whiff of chamomile. All the freckled boy has to do is wave his hand, and the cup and saucer floats towards her. She’s not sure whether she can trust a drink that came out of nowhere, offered by practically a stranger, but the smell is so soothing. She takes it and gulps it down.

She still clutches her stomach, but the warmth of the tea helps ease the dreadful gurgling. The cup slips from her hand and shatters. With a yelp, she tries to pick up the pieces, but her fingers phase right through them. Even though she was holding the cup a moment ago, her touch dissolves the porcelain into pale blue dust.

It takes her a few seconds, but then she’s frantically scrambling back, trying to get away. She makes it maybe a few paces before she knocks into something. A tree is her first thought, before she remembers that she’s indoors. When she tilts her head back, she sees that she’s backed into one of the newcomers. He’s shirtless and there’s no sign of him being willing to put a shirt on. Between his wild eyes, red tattoos, and shaven head, she isn’t sure what to make of him. “What are you so jumpy about? It’s just some magecraft!” He yells his words, loud enough for her to shift away.

He grabs her arm and hoists her up as easily as if she were a lump of foam. One second she’s on the floor, and the next her legs are creaking under her body weight. “Come on, shape up! Put some strength in your core!”

Strength? That’s a fantasy word.

“I like your guts! But you’re scaring her. Come on, Master! You have to have some energy!” She quickly diverts her attention to the man that just spoke. There’s a sports cap on his head, and his clothes are glowing, like they’re powered by some invisible battery. He’s the shortest of the bunch, but that doesn’t seem to stop all the energy in his voice.

“I— I think I’m just tired.” She couldn’t be more awake right now.

He seems to consider it, before breaking into a grin. “That’s true! Even if you’re not really the one who summoned us, it must not be easy!”

All she can do is nod.

A large man in armor is giving them some nervous glances. He almost looks like a knight, with that shining silver armor of his. If he didn’t look so concerned, it might have been sketchy. When she calls out to him, he nearly jumps back. “Sorry!” he exclaims, “I’m not a suspicious person, I swear!”

“Of course. That changes everything,” the man with glasses says before the freckled boy elbows him in the side.

The knight opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, but shuts it and hangs his head. That sort of gloom is very familiar.

“It’s good to have you around,” she meekly says.

There’s a small smile on his face when he gives her a polite nod, but then he doesn’t say anything more. It doesn’t seem like he’s a bad person. It doesn’t seem like any of them are, but they’re still right in front of her, and she has no idea what to do.

Hinata turns towards the last hero, dressed entirely in black. He’s fit with a deep frown, but more importantly— Yachi has to look away. There was the loud man before without a shirt but this one— what was with that super low v-neck? And the shorts? Sure, she’s seen boys like that in magazines, but this is new! And real!

Before she can say anything, Hinata swoops in. “You haven’t said a word! At least greet our Master properly!”

The man frowns, clearly unhappy at being talked to. “I don’t see why I should.”

Hinata bristles, baring his teeth. “What’s your problem! Why are you all high and mighty? Who do you think you are, anyway?”

“Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus.”

She knows that some foreigners have middle names, but three whole middle names is too overwhelming.

“Claud— huh?” Hinata tilts his head.

“Oh.” The knight’s eyes light with recognition. “So you’re Emperor Nero.”

The man looks down for a quick moment, but nods his head. “That’s me.”

“You’re an emperor? But you don’t look like one!” Hinata says, pulling at Nero’s clothes.

“Cut that out, moron! And what about you? You’re the one who helped summon us, but who are you supposed to be?”

Hinata flinches. “Well, that’s, uh… I’m a Rider! And our Master calls me Hinata!”

“Not that! What’s your True Name?” Nero spits out, using his full height to loom over Hinata.

“Well… I don’t know!”

A heavy silence drifts through the air.

“Is that supposed to be a joke? How do you not know?”

“I think there might have been an issue somewhere… maybe?” Yachi nervously offers.

“So our catalyst is a Heroic Spirit without a name.” Nero scoffs. “Worthless.”

Hinata steps into the air, floating up until he and Nero are face to face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you can’t remember your name, then you can’t use your Noble Phantasm either.” Nero doesn’t budge a millimeter. “Then what’s the point of having you as a Servant?”

“Hey, you didn’t have to say it like that,” the shirtless man growls.

A flag swoops down between Hinata and Nero, pushing them both apart. “That’s enough,” says the flagbearer. “Are you sure you can’t remember?”

“Positive.” Hinata looks down at his hands, drifting back down towards the ground. “Every time I try to remember, there’s a thick, muddy cloud. No matter what I do— argh, this is such a pain!” Nero snorts, and Hinata quickly turns combative again. “And you, stupid emperor! I summoned you, so you can’t say anything!”

Nero’s expression remains sour, and he is defiantly silent. Hinata looks unnerved for a short moment, but soon he returns the glare with equal force.

Yachi looks frantically between them. Does being a Master mean that you can give orders? Neither Hinata or Nero look like they’re willing to back down anytime soon.

“Enough!” The man in bronze armor speaks with authority. A shadow crosses his face, and nobody dares speak against him. When the moment passes, his expression relaxes, and he turns to Yachi. “Master—”

“Just Yachi, please.”

“Right. Yachi, we should leave as soon as possible. Other magi would have noticed the summoning by now.”

How is she going to move all these people? She doesn’t have enough money to pay for two or three taxis! And more importantly— where is she going to keep all them? They’re clearly not going away anytime soon, which means they’re going to follow her home, which means she’s going to have to find room for them to stay, which means she needs to clean up all the guest rooms, which means at least six hours of work and no sleep, which—

“Are you okay?” The young man with the cap asks. “You’re shaking a lot.”

“No! I mean, yes! I’m just…” she bites her lip. “But I’m not sure where you’re all going to stay! Yes, my house is large, but nobody’s touched the guest rooms in years, and there’s so many of you! How am I going to fit you all in a cab? How am I going to pay for the cab?” A groan comes out of her mouth, thin and strangled.

A bout of silence.

“We really don’t want to be intrusive, we swear!” the knight blurts out. “But if you want, we could probably stay in spiritual form if you’re tight on space.”

“Good idea!” Hinata says before she can ask for an explanation. “That’s better for you, Yachi! Especially since you’re not used to magecraft!”

She has no idea what they’re talking about, but she nods weakly.

“So the real question is,” Nero looks at the rest of them, “who gets to stay in physical form?”

They all eye each other, but nobody wants to be the first to speak up.

The flagbearer breaks the silence. “I’m sure we can all agree that the summoning catalyst should stay with our Master.”

Nero snorts. “Logically, sure. But we’re supposed to let a Servant that can’t fight protect someone so important?”

“No, of course not. Which is why you’re staying with him.”

Hinata and Nero’s eyes go wide. When they meet glances, they instantly recoil. “With him?”

“No way! I don’t want to be stuck with this grumpy, full-of-himself guy!”

“You can’t stick me with someone so incompetent!”

Their words turn to sparks, and they snarl at each other.

“Nero, if you’re at your full potential, then there should be no problem, right?” The flagbearer boasts a bright smile, charming and not one to budge, shriveling any protest.

“Then that’s settled.” The man in bronze armor easily reigns command. “Protect our Master. And _behave_.”

They both nod, but they look like they’ve just swallowed something sour.

“We’ll be following right behind you.”

She watches with amazement as their forms shimmer, and they dissolve like melted sugar. Even if they’re not visible, she can still feel their presence, and hear whispers in the air. Part of her mind is screaming, but most of her is so hopped up on exhaustion and terror that she can barely string together a mental debate. If there are multiple people that can do what Hinata can do, then she should be safe, at the very least. Even if seeing a torrent of wind, or something even more fantastical, just makes feel lightheaded.

It’s 12:09. She missed the last train of the day. It’s about an hour’s walk home. Maybe she can call a taxi, but taxis aren’t cheap. Plus, she’d probably get some strange looks, with how these two are dressed. Then there’s the unconscious woman. Yachi checks through the satchel for an ID or a wallet, but finds nothing. The woman’s an enigma, and in no position to give her home address, and Yachi can’t just leave her here.

“Nero— I can call you that until you make up your own name, right?”

Nero always seems to be frowning, so she’s not sure if his silence is sincere or not.

“Could you, um, carry her?”

“Are you sure she’s safe?”

She isn’t, but she nods anyway.

Nero doesn’t look entirely convinced. Still, he reaches down and picks her up with a grunt.

“A-And Hinata! We’re going to be in public, so you can’t float!”

“The _floor_? I don’t remember the last time I touched the floor!”

“You don’t remember anything, idiot!”

“Nobody asked you, Bakanero!”

Nero grimaces, unable to process the insult.

With a wary glance, Hinata looks at the floor. He hesitantly drops a foot down, like he’s testing the temperature of a cold bath. One foot goes on the floor, then the other. He keeps his arms out and sways back and forth, but he remains steady.

“I did it! I—” He takes a step and falls flat on his face.

“Moron,” Nero grumbles.

Hinata is wobbly on his feet, and has to hold onto the railing to keep his balance. She thinks of her time spent looking up calming videos of baby animals, and how spindly they were when they were first born.

There’s a loud yelp when Nero prods Hinata’s leg with his foot, and nearly sends him falling down the stairs. “It’s not like you don’t have any muscle.”

“It’s not like I actually needed to use them! Floating is much easier, anyway!”

The walk down is a long, gradual process. If she walked ahead of them both now, she’d be rude. Wasn’t she already pushing the boundaries of rudeness by not knowing a single thing about what she’d gotten herself into?

Then there was the man from before. She wasn’t sure where that open window lead out to, but if she walked outside and saw him…

A cab. She needs to call a cab. She goes through the motions of ordering a car, but she barely remembers what information she puts in. Even the occasional bickering between Hinata and Nero sounds muted.

She just witnessed a murder. Maybe two murders. There’s magic, and people could appear out of nowhere. One of said people is carrying an unconscious woman. Most importantly, she has to report to work tomorrow.

All this is ridiculous! Ridiculous! And she wants to run far away from all this, slip into bed, pretend that nothing happened, and—

Her phone buzzes. The screen is the brightest thing in the warehouse, between the streetlights outside, and the moon overhead. There’s a visual confirmation on the screen, saying that a car is on its way. A car means another person. While she really wants to cling to the hope that someone can get her away from this madness fast, Nero and Hinata definitely don’t look like civilians.

“If the driver asks, she drank too much! And both of you are in cosplay!”

“What’s cosplay?” Nero asks.

“Dressing up, I guess?”

“You want us to dress up? If you say so… I have a few outfits on reserve if you need something more dramatic, but shouldn’t you be conserving your energy?”

The last thing she needs is something more dramatic by his standards. “No! Please don’t! It’s okay!”

Nero frowns, but he doesn’t comment.

She has no idea how she’s going to explain this. Not the tattoo, not the group of people following her around, not the injured woman, not the fact that apparently there’s magic or a giant magical fight to the death.

It’s not like her life so far has been particularly outstanding. Her family has always been fairly well off, so it’s not like she’s had to struggle for the bills or anything. Being comfortable has made life exciting, either, even with her nerves being what they are. If anything, her life so far has been dull and unimpressive.

And then something like this comes along.


	2. Vertigo

All the lights in the house are on, but Rider still feels the shadows flickering behind him. Nobody is moving in the all the open-doored rooms, and the neighbors are all preoccupied with their own business. He hesitates to call his place safe, but it seems they won’t be bothered for now.

Yachi’s house is on the small side, but it’s no hut. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from the frightened young girl who summoned them, but he wasn’t expecting this elegant, sewn-together home. The wallpaper is pale and plain, and most of the furniture is made of glass or polished wood, with a few tiny plants here and there. Stacks of untouched books are scattered about on the furniture, but everything is impeccably clean. The floors are all solid wood, shiny enough to not have seen much company.

“What a tiny Master we have!” A trail of light flickers behind Assassin as he darts into the hallway. “A little too tiny.”

Hinata has his hands pressed up against the closed door, trying to see through wood. “Is she okay? Did she hit her head? Is it enemy magecraft?”

“Whoa, calm down!” Assassin takes a step back so Hinata isn’t right in his face. “She’s just asleep, that’s all.”

As Hinata fizzles down, Nero grumbles, “You worry too much.”

“This is our Master we’re talking about!”

The two of them argued the entire way back, and only stopped to make sure Yachi didn’t hurt herself.

As far as he can tell, it seems to be a normal house, but he can feel an undeniable pulse of mana beneath the floorboards. For someone who seemed clueless, her house is built right on top of a leyline well. How convenient. With the amount of mana naturally coming up through the earth, they can all easily sustain physical form without having to rely on their Master.

There’s enough space around that they could all stand comfortably without crowding around each other, but they’ve all congregated in the narrow hallway outside of Yachi’s room. Now that they’re all in a small space, not spread out across a giant magic circle, it’s clear how many there are. Saber shifts back, trying to make way for Assassin, and the hooded Caster sweeps his cloak out of the way before Nero sits on it. Too many people in a small space for too long is an argument waiting to happen.

In a normal Holy Grail War, the only person he had to bother getting along with was his Master. There were never supposed to be comrades— alliances perhaps, but never Servants that shared the same objectives. Rider has seen his fair share of wars: blood conquest, and ambition all rolled into one. He knows the unspoken rules of games with people, and he was good at it.

Rider walks over to the edge of the staircase, so he’s in full view of everyone. “Now that we’re all settled, we should go over a few things. But first, I think we can all agree that it’s too risky to use our True Names.” All of them had made their mark on history in one form or another, so to declare their true name is to unveil their entire story— as well as publicly declare their weaknesses. With a novice Master, as many precautions as possible were be necessary. “Let’s use aliases instead.”

“Why not just use Class Names?” Berserker asks.

“We have two Riders, two Casters, and two Sabers. Class names will just end up confusing us.”

“Found it!” The freckled Caster waves his hand, and the large book hovering before him flutters open. The mushroom pattern along his vest has faded, and is replaced with lines of tiny, illegible text. “A dictionary! Names mean a lot, so let’s pick some good ones.”

Rider gently takes the book and flips through the pages. The first character he finds is _lightning_ , but it doesn’t strike him as anything special. With all the problems appearing already, this new incarnation is one he’s going to have to conquer and endure. Harsh territory and determined people. He finds the characters, and makes his choice.

“We should formally introduce ourselves. If we’re going to be working as a team, we should know our aliases and our True Names.”

Nobody speaks. Of course not, in a normal Grail War, it’s suicide to state your True Name.

“Then I’ll go first.” Rider says his name, and holds his head high. He is who he is, and he’s proud of it. His new comrades gape at his name, but he just laughs it off. Alone, he would have basked in the pride, but he’s no longer the most important piece. “I was summoned as a Rider. Call me Sawamura.”

Between the fascinated stares is Hinata’s harsh, piercing one. Normally he’s able to get a vague read on people, but trying to figure out Hinata feels like trying to catch the wind. Sawamura makes to hand the dictionary to the flagbearer as a distraction, but the flagbearer shakes his head. “You don’t need it?”

“I’ve already had something in mind. Please call me Sugawara.”

The freckled Caster tilts his head. “Sugawah…” he tries, stumbling over the pronunciation.

Sugawara’s firmness dissolves in a moment, and becomes all cheer. “Suga, if that’s easier.”

“Suga, then!”

Suga is an anomaly, even more so than their leader who lost his memory. No, even his form doesn’t flicker the way the rest of theirs do. “Your body—”

“We can all discuss that later, once our Master gets a handle on things.”

Sawamura never thought of himself as a pushover, but this man shut his mouth in an instant. He feels a smile tugging at his lips.

“I came up with something too!” The freckled Caster exclaims. When he says his True Name, it all clicks together, shifting patterns, books, and all. “But you can call me Yamaguchi, if you want.”

“That’s so plain though. You don’t want it to be cool or flashy?” Assassin asks.

Yamaguchi tugs at his beret, slowly pulling it over his face. “I’m not a hero, so a plain name is fine.”

“Would you really have gotten summoned if you didn’t do something right?” The hooded Caster’s voice is flat, his posture is perfect, and he oozes intimidation.

Yamaguchi peeks out from behind his hat, eyes sparkling.

“I’ve decided too!” Feet planted firm, Assassin casually tosses the book over his shoulder, and Saber scrambles to catch it. “Nishinoya here! But you can call me Noya! My True Name is— it’s a secret! You guys can have my codename, though!”

Assassins rely on stealth, but codenames and true identities tend to be one and the same in their cases. Sawamura can’t decipher Assassin’s codename, even when he hears it, but there has to be a reason for secrecy. Still, he can’t imagine Noya being stealthy, while his clothes glow in the dark.

“And I’m a Saber!”

Nobody can muster a response to that.

“Um, Nishinoya.” Saber— their sole unnamed Saber— quietly speaks up. “Maybe your best class is Saber, but your Saint Graph is an Assassin’s…”

Nishinoya swivels around fast enough to kick the dust up around his feet and pushes himself into Saber’s face as best he can. “I’m a Saber! A _Saber_! And what are you, you second Saber?”

Even if Nishinoya barely comes up to his shoulders, Saber blanches and holds up his hands. The book comes tumbling from his grasp, and Berserker catches it before it hits the floor. “I’m a Saber too!” He swallows, and his armor clanks as he shifts. “If you are… mm. Then Azumane is fine for me.”

Azumane’s True Name doesn’t fit his image at all. As soon as he says it, Nishinoya’s eyes widen, and he steps back into his own space. “Is that so?” He crosses his arms and nods, thoughts flying through his head. “In that case, let’s get along as fellow Sabers!”

“R-Right,” Azumane stutters, and Sawamura can’t tell if it’s his natural shyness or his response to Nishinoya.

“My turn!” Berserker shouts. “Good to meet you all! One Berserker here, ready to go!”

Looking at Tanaka with a critical eye, he never would have guessed his True Name. Looks like there are all sorts of kings and leaders on their team-- but if there’s trouble, Sawamura’s confident in his ability to quell it.

He looks at the hooded Caster, who curdles with his stare. Pulling his cloak around him, he flips through the book and grumbles curses under his breath. Finally, he closes it, and pushes up his glasses. “Tsukishima will do. My class is Caster." Tsukishima’s True Name fits his image, but something tells Sawamura he shouldn’t say it out loud.

Tsukishima all but shoves the book into Nero’s face, nearly bashing his teeth out. The frown deepens in Nero’s forehead as he knocks the book into the air. It hovers right before it hits the ground, and scurries back to Yamaguchi’s side.

“Did his majesty already pick something?” asks Tsukishima around a sneer.

“I did, actually.”

Sawamura coughs loudly, drawing the attention back to himself. “What is it?”

Nero picks his chin up. “You can call me Kageyama now. I am a Saber, of course.”

“Why Kageyama, though?”

“It’s powerful and dignified.”

“He was watching TV and there was a guy who came on and Nero liked the way he spoke!” Hinata manages to dodge when Kageyama swipes at him.

Memorizing names has never daunted him before. Sawamura cycles their names through his head until they sound natural.

“Now that we’ve come up with our aliases, let’s lay down a couple of ground rules.” He still feels Hinata’s icy stare against his side, so he nods his head towards the other Rider. “How does that sound?”

“Oh,” Hinata stumbles at being suddenly addressed. So that stare was one of curiosity, not a challenge. “Right! Yes. Go ahead!”

There’s a million questions he has about their leader, but he swallows them down for now. “Let’s only refer to each other by our aliases. And you’ve seen how low our Master is on mana. Until we can figure out how to get around that, we’re keeping fighting to a minimum. And no Noble Phantasms.”

Nishinoya lets out a groan. “We came here to fight, and we can’t even fight!”

“If you have any other ideas, let’s hear them.”

“Nah, I’m good with the plan. Just kind of a pain, you know?”

“I know.” Sawamura touches his mantle as he speaks. He came for battle, for glory, for a chance to grab an impossible wish. If wishes could be granted by doing nothing, the world would be a boring place. He was a king, and while kings aim for peace, the journey is anything but.

“I also have a proposal,” Tsukishima raises his hand, his sleeve slipping down to reveal bone-white skin. “No Noble Phantasms are fine, but it’s not enough. We shouldn’t tell her our True Names either.”

The step Tanaka takes towards Tsukishima is enough to shake the floorboards.“Hey, that’s our Master you’re talking about! Being cautious is one thing, but you’re just being rude!”

“She’s a complete novice,” Tsukishima frowns towards the closed door, “in every sense. Why should we trust her to not blurt out our True Names? A novice Master casually mentions our names to the enemy, then we all end up dead. Is that what you want?”

“No, he’s right.” Sugawara speaks with even understanding. “It’s safe to say she doesn’t know anything. So she wouldn’t _know better_.” With a sympathetic look at Tanaka, he adds, “At least until she becomes accustomed to what’s happening.”

Tanaka meets the proposal with a sniff, but doesn’t argue against it.

With a breath, Sawamura continues. “Then let’s leave it at that. No True Names, no Noble Phantasms, minimal fighting. As long as we don’t leave this leyline well, we should be able to keep our physical form without straining our Master.” A good thing, too. He’s been restless in spirit form for so long that it’s such a relief to be able to walk around. “Agreed?”

Everyone nods.

“Good. We’re done here.”

They slowly scatter, off to explore the different parts of their new base. Sawamura lingers a bit longer to make sure that Hinata and Kageyama don’t start fighting, but they seem more keen on guarding Yachi. The door clicks closed behind them.

He heads downstairs, careful not to seem like he’s in a hurry, taking note of the layout until he finds Suga. The flagbearer is shedding his armor in the living room, his eyes fixed to the TV. There was never anything like that in either of their times, and while they have some knowledge of the modern world, there’s still a glimmer of fascination in his eyes. Off comes his gauntlets, and tassets, and he places them all carefully to the side. He pauses undoing the knots on his breastplate when Sawamura walks in, but continues on, uninterrupted.

“You’re not half bad at speeches.”

Suga looks over his shoulder at him, a practiced smile on his lips. “I had a few opportunities.”

“You sure did. The Throne has its ways, but I didn’t think I’d ever meet someone like you.”

“I’m just a country boy. Nobody special.”

Sawamura laughs, but doesn’t contradict him. “You commanded them in an instant.”

“Are you planning to take command yourself, king?”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so no words came from his mouth. “No,” he finally says. “Honestly, I don’t think a Servant who’s lost his memory is the best leader we can have. But that’s how things turned out. I was a king, there’s no reason I can’t give out good advice.”

Suga’s smile is bright, but Sawamura sees the shadows in the corner of his mouth. As the seconds pass by, he realizes his answer was probably the safest thing he could have said.

“Besides,” he adds with a cough. “We’re comrades. I’m hoping I can count on you.” He extends his hand out in a quick handshake.

There’s a moment where Suga studies his face, looking for something beyond Sawamura’s comprehension. His handshake is gentle at first, then firm. “That we are. Good to be working with you.”

 

* * *

 

Yachi calls out of work the next day. It’s the first time she’s done so since she first got hired, and she isn’t sure what to say. When she talks to Kamasaki, he even asks if she’s okay. It’s nice to hear that sort of encouragement, even if she isn’t telling the whole truth.

In the quiet of her room, she counts the bubbles of paint on her ceiling. Maybe it was all a dream. Just like one of those old stories, she’d wake up from a fantastical world into her dull, normal, comfortable life.

There’s a pair of brown eyes right above her face. “Good morning!”

Hinata zips back, hands over his ears, when Yachi screams.

The door rattles on its hinges when it’s kicked open. “Hinata, you moron! You’re supposed to be watching her!” Nero bursts into the room, carrying a— what is that thing? A sword? It’s about as long as Nero is tall, and is curved more like a thorny vine than a steel blade.

He pauses when he sees Yachi pressed up against the wall and a floating but frazzled Hinata. “Where’s the enemy?”

“Nero?”

“Yes?”

“You’re real.”

“…Yes.” Nero clutches the handle of his blade, clearly uncomfortable at being quizzed.

“So that— it wasn’t a dream.”

Hinata drifts towards Yachi’s side. “Why would you want it to be?”

She can think of several very compelling reasons.

“So... there isn’t an emergency,” Nero tensely asks.

“No.”

The blade vanishes in a flurry of black flower petals. Magic? Could a Roman Emperor use magic?

“Now that you’re awake, Mas—Yachi! We need to make a plan! It’s going to be a long war, and we have to be ready!” Hinata jabs at the air, like he’s punching some invisible enemy.

Fighting? Oh… that’s right, Hinata had mentioned a fight to the death, didn’t he? Her toes twitch. To the death… death… death…

“I need breakfast!”

She makes her way downstairs, too frazzled to be self-conscious about her pajamas. She’s vaguely aware of Nero’s armored boots clacking on the hallway floor, and no doubt Hinata isn’t far behind.

“There you are!” comes a gruff voice, and she nearly falls down the stairs shrieking.

It’s the bald man, and he’s grinning up at her. He still hasn’t put on a shirt. She feels a little embarrassed looking at him, because he is very, very well built. His whole torso is littered with scars so huge she wonders how he could have survived them. The scar on his chest is bigger than her hand, and it looks like some sort of clawed beast tried to rip apart his face. There are ornate tattoos on his arms that resemble dragons, and the type of design is nothing like she’s ever seen. She’s very, very thankful that her stern and proper mother isn’t around to see him.

“Was wondering when you’d get up! How are you doing? Did you find out any information on the enemy factions yet?”

Her mind feels like it’s been stuffed into a pressure cooker.

Someone whacks the bald man over the head. “Cut it out! Can’t you see you’re making her nervous?”

It’s the silver-haired flagbearer, although his flag isn’t by his side. She spots it propped up against a vase by the entryway.

The bald man rubs his head and grumbles, but relents. “We've been waiting a while for you to wake up, you know…” he says, before heading into the living room.

The flagbearer shakes his head. “Some of them act like they’ve never been summoned before…” he mutters before turning to Yachi. “How are you feeling?”

With her tongue as heavy as stone, it takes her a moment to find her words. “I, um, a little startled, I guess?”

“Not too tired?”

“No more than usual…”

“That’s good. We don’t want to exhaust you.”

She nods profusely. He looks so different without his armor. He’s wearing the same clothes, just long sleeves, pants, and a shawl, but like this he almost looks normal.

“You stopped. Is everything okay?”

Unlike Nero and Hinata behind her.

“I was just, um—”

Hinata drifts down the banister, and his eyes light up. “Suga, is the food ready?”

She was never very good at history, but she’s never heard of a famous person called Suga. Is she forgetting about some famous warlord? But his armor looked distinctly European, so that wouldn’t make any sense...

There’s bustling in the kitchen. She hears dishes clanking together, and some shouting. The knight stumble backwards out of the kitchen, looking as if he’s just seen a monster, and scrambles towards the back door.

Suga follows her gaze and explains, “We figured we could cook something up for all of us while you slept. I hope you don’t mind.”

Did she even have enough food in her fridge? She had made a large pot of nabe for herself the other day, and there’s probably enough rice in the house. Some pickles, maybe? But still, feeding all of them is practically like whipping up a buffet!

“Tsukishima— the Caster with the dark hood and glasses— went out and got some ingredients. We don’t have any currency from this time period, but Casters are good at spells. Don’t worry, I helped too, there’s nothing dangerous in it.”

It’s a little concerning that Suga has to reassure her, but she knows her thoughts would have eventually lead up to that idea. “Thank you. Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but… is your name really Suga?”

“No, it’s just an alias. We all came up with them while you were asleep.”

She nods through Suga’s explanations, committing the names to memory. Sawamura. Sugawara. Nishinoya. Azumane. Tanaka. Tsukishima. Yamaguchi. Kageyama. Hinata. It’s a long list, but she thinks that she can manage.

There’s one more thing on her mind. “How is she?”

The pretty woman from the night before is lying on the couch, with a pillow is propped up under her head, and a blanket is draped over her body. The gaping wound in her hand has been bound with gauze, but some spots of dull red have bled through. Her breaths are shallow, but it doesn’t seem like she’s struggling to breathe. It looks like she’s simply taking a nap, a brilliant princess right out a fairy tale.

Yachi reaches a nervous hand forward and places it on the woman’s uninjured hand. It’s warm. The moment she feels a pulse, Yachi pulls her hand back. What was she doing, touching a beautiful woman like this? If a normal person like her touches a gorgeous person, shouldn’t she evaporate on the spot?

“Are you okay?” Hinata floats closer. “Your face is all red.”

“I’m fine!” It comes out as a shout, and Hinata darts towards the ceiling. “I’m glad she’s alright. Um, breakfast! What’s for breakfast?”

Tsukishima is at the stove, mixing something sweet-smelling in a large pot. His dark cloak is draped over a nearby chair, where Yamaguchi is sitting and flipping through one of her mother’s cookbooks.

She’s a little caught off guard with Yamaguchi. He has a plain face, and is dressed like those ouji lolitas that come into the store sometimes. When he turns the pages, she realizes that those aren’t black gloves and leggings. His limbs aren’t even made of flesh; they’re ball-jointed doll limbs charred black. Her eyes dart to his neck, which still looks human. He’s drumming his fingers on the cover so easily, if she didn’t look closely, she would have mistaken them for normal hands.

For the first time, Yachi’s thankful that her mother is abroad on a business trip. She had some concerns that the house would feel empty without her, but this remedy is far too dramatic.

“Azumane nearly ran out,” Suga says as he pries open a pot. “Is there a problem?”

“Several,” Tsukishima snaps back. “But my absolute complaint is the rest of this so-called faction. Rulers, emperors, conquerors— worthless! All these feats, and they don’t even know how to feed themselves!”

“You’re really not fazed by heroes.”

“I don’t see why I should be. I’m even less impressed by people who don’t even know how to cook a meal. So,” a sharp glare is aimed at Kageyama, “get out.”

Kageyama winces. “Yachi shouldn’t be alone.”

“You think someone’s going to ambush us while we’re all here?” When neither Hinata or Kageyama move, Tsukishima sighs. “Fine. Then if you’re going to take up space, set the table, your majesty.”

After Kageyama begrudgingly tidies everything, their long table is finally filled up. She’s had many meals where she sat on one end, and her mother sat on the other, with perfect posture and harsh words. Or more often, when her only company is the long stretch of wood from her seat and a line of empty chairs. Unlike her mother’s dinner parties, there aren’t any placemats. The bowls aren’t all from the same set, but seem to be whatever was in the front of the cabinet. All the guests are dressed differently, instead of in the pressed suits and formalwear that she’s used to seeing on her mother’s colleagues.

Tsukishima serves everyone very coldly. Whatever he puts in her bowl looks like oatmeal, but it tastes like honey.

Nishinoya has inhaled his bowl before she’s taken five spoonfuls. He’s energetic and bright. Very bright. His clothes are actually glowing. The jacket hanging off his shoulders looks normal, but the rest of him— there are panels and plugs and glowing strips of orange across the black bodysuit he has on. He looks like he stepped right out of a scifi movie. She can’t even fathom what sort of famous hero he could be— or where he even came from. “More please!” he asks, holding out his bowl.

“Self-service,” is all Tsukishima replies before sitting down.

Tanaka and Nishinoya get up for refills at least twice. Tsukishima and Kageyama seem to eat at her pace. Suga eats slowly, but he gets up for seconds. She’s not sure where the food in Hinata’s bowl keeps going. Azumane and Sawamura are heartily serving themselves. While Yamaguchi seems to be reading from that large fancy book he carries around, she spots him sneaking a few spoonfuls.

The food is good, so nobody talks. Through the silence and clinking utensils, Yachi’s thoughts are far too loud.

These are all people that she summoned by magic, with Hinata’s help, who is also made of magic. But here they all are, normally eating breakfast like they’re in a university cafeteria.

“So! You’re all visible again!” She withers under their gaze. They must all think she’s an idiot, saying things like that!

“Normally, we wouldn’t be,” Sawamura says. Without the red mantle over his shoulders, she realizes just how powerful he looks. He’s the very image of strength, solid and defined. Not even a hurricane could knock him down. Despite that, he is pleasant, and hasn’t raised his voice once at her. There’s a reliability in him that she feels she can trust. “But luckily, your house is in a convenient location. The leylines run right under it.”

“Leylines?”

“You have blood vessels, right? Leylines are like that, but for the earth.”

“It helps replenish our energy, even if it’s weak. So as long as we don’t fight, it shouldn’t be too hard on you either. Which is good!” Nishinoya stretches his arms, “It’s no fun being a ghost! Physical form’s so much better than spiritual!”

“Right…” If she agrees with everything they’re saying, maybe she’ll catch on. Hopefully.

“You’re really quiet,” Kageyama’s voice rushes away her thoughts. “Do you have a stomachache or something?”

“N-No, I don’t! The food is very good!”

“Hey, you really have no tact, huh?” Tanaka peers at Kageyama. “Were you really an emperor?”

A shade of discomfort washes over Kageyama’s face. “Of course I was! Even if…” His voice trails off, and his grip tightens on his spoon.

A loud clap calls attention to the front of the table. “Enough of that. Yachi, is there anything you want to ask us?”

“There’s so much! I don’t even know where to start!” Yachi inhales, deep, with an aftertaste of oatmeal. A pocket of air fills her stomach, and her heart flutters. “So your names… Suga, they’re all aliases, right?”

“Yes. We all decided that it’s probably better that we still keep our True Names a secret.”

She’s never really liked the idea of people keeping secrets from her. Secrets are a burden, of course, and a great responsibility! But still, she’s supposed to trust these people, and to know that they don’t trust her sinks a stone in her lungs.

“You don’t like the idea?”

“No! I mean, you seem like a very trustworthy person! And you know what you’re talking about, so by comparison, I…” Her shoulders sag, as she mindlessly stirs her oatmeal. “But well…” It’s hard to come up with the words. She’s never been good at disagreements. “I guess, I thought it would be nice to know who you all were.”

Yamaguchi looks up from his book at Hinata. “You didn’t tell her?”

Hinata nearly chokes on his food. “I, uh— I had to summon all of you! There wasn’t enough time!”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“No! Of course not… but I didn’t expect to forget everything, too—“ He bursts out of his chair. “I should go check on the floor. Yeah, doing rounds!” Before anyone can protest, he zips out of the dining room.

Sawamura clears his throat. “Let’s say Achilles was summoned. You’d know exactly where to aim to hurt him, right? We’re all well known figures. So if we have weaknesses, our enemies would be able to figure out what they are if they know our identities. It’s absolutely key to keep them hidden. We told each other, but since you’re completely new to magic, well…”

She nods in understanding. It’s not like anything he’s saying is wrong.

“—But telling you what Class we’re in shouldn’t be a problem, either. And when you’re more suited to magic, we’ll tell you our True Names.”

That seems reasonable. “What are all these Classes, though? Saber I think I understand, Ner— Kageyama has a sword. But Rider? Berserker?”

“The Holy Grail summons us into seven different classes. The three knights: Saber, Lancer, Archer. And the four horsemen: Rider, Caster, Assassin, Berserker. Not every Spirit is qualified for every class, since that depends on what we did in life. The three knights explain themselves. There are Riders— specializing in mounts, Casters— mages, Assassins— covert and stealth, and Berserkers— those that trade sanity for power. There are some extra classes sometimes, but you shouldn’t have to worry about that right now. We should warn you that all of us materialized like this isn’t normal. And you’ve never learned anything about being a mage, right?”

If she says anything admitting it, that would almost be acknowledging that all of this would be real— and remain her reality for a long period of time.

“The way it normally works is that Heroic Spirits like us can stay materialized with the help of mana from our Masters. But since you’re not used to any of this, then we can’t rely on a steady stream of energy from Hinata.”

“Hinata?”

“Technically, it was Hinata that summoned us, not you. Your contract is only with Hinata. Most of your energy is working to keep him materialized. But you still have to do that, and if he doesn’t get enough energy from you, then he can’t work on keeping us solid. So we have to lighten the burden on him a little. But we lucked out. How long have you lived here?”

“My entire life? I’ve never moved before.”

Suga makes a thoughtful sound. “I see. Anyway, the leylines should give us some energy, and we can eat and sleep; becoming flesh, essentially. With a combination of all three, we should be able to recharge our mana fairly easily.”

“So we can definitely go out and beat up some—” Tanaka starts, but Sawamura cuts him off.

“No. We’re not trying to drain our Master dry.”

Yachi’s spine freezes up. “D-Drain dry?”

“Well, yeah. You and Hinata summoned us all.” Nishinoya speaks inbetween bites. “Most of the time, it’s crazy to think about summoning _two_ of us. For nine— normally you’d be dead in the first minute.”

She often thinks of her death, but knowing she was this close is—

“Hey, are you okay? You’re twitching.”

“No tact at all,” Tsukishima sighs. “We’ll be lucky if we survive a week. Maybe four days.”

She’s not sure when her hands started shaking, but it’s hard to hold her spoon. It bounces off the table and clatters onto the floor. This is over her head. This is all way over her head. How could she possibly work with all of this? She knows nothing, absolutely nothing, and all these people around her are—

There’s a yelp from outside the kitchen. Hinata comes zipping back into the room and nearly barrels straight into Kageyama’s head. “Yachi! Yachi! That girl! She woke up!”

Yachi springs up. As her feet carry her out of the room, she hears Hinata call after her.

The image before her stays in her mind, even as the seconds pass. The woman is sitting upright on the couch, a long piece of paper between her fingers. Her messy hair only accentuates how dangerous her eyes are. The moment she puts pressure on her injured hand, her arm buckles under the pressure, and she knocks her head against the back of the couch. Amazingly, her arm remains steady, and pointed right at Yachi. The bandage on her hand is splotched with blood. Some fresh red is seeping through; putting weight on it must have opened it up again. Her lips are parted in surprise, and she looks from her hand to Yachi, and back to her hand.

“Where am I?” she asks. Her voice is low, calm, and wrapped in steel.

“Um, w-well, you see…” Yachi can’t stop stammering. “You were hurt, and we couldn’t just leave you, so we brought you here? To the house. My house. And you were out for a long time! Many hours! Overnight! But we patched you up and you should be good now, I think?”

A gust of wind blows past Yachi, and Hinata wrenches the woman’s arm up towards the ceiling. “We helped you, don’t go ahead and attack our Master!”

“A Heroic Spirit?” the woman murmurs. And then quietly, “your Master?”

As soon as he reads the patterns on the slip of paper in the woman’s hand, Hinata drops her arm. He remains resolutely between the piece of paper and Yachi, but he looks like he wants to be as far away as possible.

The woman’s eyes find Yachi, stern and unyielding. Yachi’s heart feels like it’s going fall out of her chest. “Show me your hand.”

Her heartbeat blocks out the woman’s request, so the woman repeats herself with even more seriousness. Yachi mechanically raises her right hand, and the dark red patterns catch the light.

“Command Seals,” the woman confirms. Her frown is deadlier than a knife to the ribs. “So the Association betrayed me.”

Footsteps behind her. Sawamura, Suga, and Kageyama have stepped into the living room. They linger back, but there’s tension in their stances.

The woman glances at them, and grips the blanket hard. “You can tell your Lord at the Clocktower that we’ll never forgive this, even if you kill me right now.”

“Kill?” Yachi squeaks with dawning horror. “I-I-I’m not going to kill you! Of course not! How could I?”

The tag in the woman’s hand remains steady.

“And your hand! You’re bleeding! You were really, really injured last night—”

“How did you steal my Command Seals?”

“I didn’t! At least, I don’t know how— Hinata! How do these things work?”

“Huh? I gave them to you! You’re my Master, so you need them!”

The woman watches him, without expression. “Heroic Spirit, I was the mage that summoned you.”

“A contract is a contract,” Hinata tonelessly replies.

Her chest heaves in a short breath, like she’s bracing herself for a crash. “That’s undeniable.”

Yachi threads her fingers together and untangles them, over and over again. “I—” she starts, and once she’s spoken, it’s too late to take her words back, “I didn’t mean to take your Seals. I didn’t even mean to stay! Everything just happened— I— I shouldn’t have taken that package! Then none of this would have happened, and—”

Hinata worryingly drifts closer to her, unsure if he should touch her or not.

The woman looks at her, questioningly. “You’re not from the Clocktower? The Association, at all?”

“No! I don’t know what that is! I have no idea what any of this is!”

The woman looks at the three by the kitchen, at Hinata floating in midair, and at Yachi. “Then how did you get the catalyst?”

“An accident. There was this man bleeding—“ Did he survive? She never went back to check. “I… don’t know if he’s alright, but he had the box, and he couldn’t move. He gave it to me, and told me to take it to you, and then another man started chasing me, and—“ The memories flooding through her head are making her dizzy.

“What happened to the person who followed you?”

She shakes her head.

“If you managed to repel an enemy magus, you’ve done well.”

It’s not as if she did anything. Hinata’s the one who summoned that terrible wind. Her stomach lurches at the thought of it.

“What’s your name?”

“Y-Yachi Hitoka.” A beautiful woman asking for her name? Stuff like this only happens in dreams. “And you? Yours. Your name.”

The woman purses her lips. “Shimizu Kiyoko.”

Even her name is beautiful!

“You didn’t have to shelter me. So thank you for that.”

It’s totally different than when customers thank her for her help. Yachi’s lungs are wrung out. “N-No problem.”

“As for the war—“

“Magus. You’re not thinking of making her hand over her Command Seals, are you?” Sawamura’s voice cuts through the dim.

Shimizu looks momentarily surprised, and then her expression returns to neutrality. “It’s very dangerous for an untrained magus to be in a Holy Grail War. Especially if this is one of her early encounters with magecraft.”

“You think you could do better?”

“It’s still dangerous, no matter what. You all should know that.”

Danger. Danger. Danger.

Something beyond her wildest dreams, or worst nightmares, and she’s in the middle of it. Yachi’s teeth are chattering. Her throat is thick with saliva.

“Are you okay?” Hinata worriedly asks.

“I’m fine! I’m definitely fine! I’m just— I need to lie down!”

“But you just woke up…” Kageyama points out.

Sawamura continues undeterred. “Hinata, you summoned us using catalysts, right?”

“Yeah! There were a whole lot of them— but I didn’t catch what they all were, though.”

“Yachi didn’t prepare them. So you must have, right?” Sawamura looks straight at Shimizu. “And if you did, you know who we all are.”

If an entire factions’ True Names are revealed to an outsider, then they’d be at a severe disadvantage. With her as a Master, they’re already at a disadvantage, never mind the rest.

“Are you going to kill me?” Shimizu asks.

“Depends. Are you with us, or against us?”

When Shimizu finds Yachi, Yachi quickly looks away. Her gaze is too strong, too dazzling. “When you summoned the rest of them, you didn’t praise ‘an ancestor’, did you? Who did you praise?”

Last night seems so far away, and she wishes it could be even further. Hinata’s invocation was long and complex, and she was just repeating what he told her, but she recalls a few words from the thick fog in her brain. “I… I think it was ‘the crows’.”

“To ‘Karasuno’?”

She nods.

Shimizu sits back. “Then I’m not your enemy.”

So easily? Yachi can’t get her mouth working, and her tongue flops blandly in her mouth. “Is that, ah, really okay? I mean, you don’t know me?”

“You helped summon your Servants pledging to Karasuno, so I have no issue in you participating. If you’d pledged to Wakutani or Tokonami,” a cold flash skims her gaze, “I would have said differently.”

Yachi’s eyes find Hinata. He really saved her life by helping her out with the spell, didn’t he?

“Are you sure this is okay? And I don’t know magic!”

“Magecraft,” Shimizu politely corrects. “You couldn’t possibly know magic.”

“There’s a difference?”

Shimizu is an icicle in the middle of the room. “I thought you were a novice magus but…” There’s a tension in her shoulders. “You don’t know anything about magecraft at all, do you?”

Yachi vehemently shakes her head.

Silence hangs, thick and foreboding.

“Maybe this isn’t such—” Shimizu starts, but Hinata crosses his arms defiantly.

“You’d better not be thinking of taking Yachi’s Command Seals! If you force her to hand them over or kill her, I’ll never follow you! You’ll have to use up a Command Seal to get me to do anything!”

Shimizu is struck silent. Yachi’s legs feel a little stronger. There’s no reason whatsoever for Hinata to have such faith in her, but here he is, defending her. She can’t help but feel a little moved.

“You’re… quite attached to your Master.” Shimizu says with careful control.

“Attached? I guess I am— I’m her Servant after all. Of course I’m attached, we have a contract! And I’m going to be a good, loyal Servant, that’s why I was summoned, after all!”

Everyone looks puzzled.

“Not necessarily,” Suga pipes up. “It really depends on the Spirit and how they feel.”

Hinata’s eyes grow wide. Then he says slowly, “Really?” He looks from Servant to Servant and seeing their expressions, mumbles, “Oh.” He floats there, red-faced, thinking for a moment. “Well! In that case, I said it, didn’t I? So I’ll keep that promise!”

“Moron,” Kageyama grumbles.

“In any case,” Shimizu’s voice sounds strained. “I’m not your enemy. But these circumstances are… less than ideal.”

There’s an apology on Yachi’s tongue, but she knows it’s pointless. She could apologize for twenty years, and it probably still wouldn’t be enough. “Maybe you should go to a hospital for your hand. It was really,” the gaping wound flashes through her head, and her stomach lurches, “bad.”

“No hospitals.” Shimizu’s tone is firm. She looks to Suga. “Do you have any healing abilities?”

“Only my Noble Phantasm. And this is no time to use it.”

“True.” She looks bitterly at her bandaged hand. “At least it doesn’t hurt as much as it should.” She is quiet for a few moments, her fingers digging into the blanket. “Do you mind if I stay here for the evening?”

Yachi’s so startled that she almost forgets to respond. “Alright.”

Shimizu flops backwards, and a small sigh escapes from her mouth. Then she curls over to face the back of the couch, and doesn’t move.

With a jerk of his head, Sawamura motions Nishinoya over. He motions to Shimizu, and his message is clear: watch over her. Nishinoya responds with a nod, and takes a seat close to the couch.

Yachi trudges upstairs.

She thought she was helping that desperate stranger out, but maybe she shouldn’t have done so. Now she’s involved in some magical war, and she doesn’t know a single bit of magic. The most qualified person, replaced with the least qualified.

Instead of helping, she ruined everything.

 

* * *

 

Kenma stands in the hallway, his hands still firmly gripping the straps of his oversized backpack. He hadn’t been sure of what exactly Nekomata planned for him, but he wasn’t a whole family house. He has the entire place to himself, so he can’t really complain, but it seems like a lot of space just for one person.

The movers probably took pity on seeing one lone person moving piles of boxes, so a lot of the large furniture has been unpacked. Everything is scattered about, as if the movers decided to try their hand at interior design. It’s still underfurnished, but not enough to be uninhabitable.

All the boxes in his room are still unopened. He’s not sure what Nekomata put in them— he’s only ever needed something to read and a pen to write down his thoughts. They’re probably filled with endless distractions. Half the view out his window is blocked by a tree, the only thing growing out of an empty garden.

Making his bed is the first thing he does. There shouldn’t be so many parts, he thinks before he hits the mattress and is nearly swallowed up. Oh, this is bliss. If he didn’t have to move, things would be pretty great. The craters of his eyes are numb, and his neck feels like a plank of wood. He probably slept funny again. He’s not used to these beds that you sink into, and blankets half his body weight.

Before the sleep tugging at his eyes can fully close them, a loud ringing comes from beneath his pillow. Kenma jumps, frantically tapping his hand around to find the offensive object. It’s ringing even louder when he finally pulls it out from beneath the blankets.

“Did you make it to Kozuru?” comes an old, familiar voice.

“Yeah.”

“I hope the move went well.”

Kenma drags his fingers through his long hair. He should probably dig out a comb next. “It wasn’t too much trouble.”

“You’re far from Tokyo. Remember that we can’t be much help if something goes wrong.”

He sighs. “I know.”

Outside, some kids run down the street, their laughter bouncing between the houses.

“Sounds lively by you.”

“It’s the most likely area where something’s going to happen. The clouds haven’t gathered yet. It’s the rainy season.”

“You say in the middle of winter.” A chuckle from the other end. “I trust your judgment. Keep an eye out. I sent over some books for you to catch up on. It’s no good to be idle.”

It’s no good to be overworked, either. All things considered, Nekomata is a reasonable man, but Kenma really just wants to take a nap.

“I know.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

Kenma lets the phone fall to his side. The shadows of the tree are reflected perfectly on the ceiling, like a menacing hand. Soon it’ll be sundown, and the room will be dark.

Too bad he’s awake now.

With a grumble he rolls out of bed, and finds the box with all his small personal belongings. Books, pillows, computer cords, mugs, tea, pens— and finally, a sketchbook and a brush.

He dips his brush into ink, and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

Metal clanks on the floor. Yachi spots Kageyama and Hinata by the staircase, huddling like they’re unsure whether to approach her or not. Hinata darts back, dragging Kageyama by his collar. From the series of thumps, Kageyama might have been accidentally pulled down the stairs. Judging from the yelling, he’s fine.

She walks into her room and quietly shuts the door. It’s not going to deter anyone, and she knows it.

At least Hinata looks nervous when he eases open the door. “Don’t be scared, it’s just me. And Kageyama, down the hall.” She nods, and he floats into the room.

Hinata stares grimly at the window. “…That magus. She has much higher mana levels than you do.” The constant breeze around Hinata has slowed down. “She… she’s right, isn’t she? She’s the one that called me from the Throne.”

Her fingers are clumsy on the edge of her shirt. “Right.”

“Of course! You didn’t know the summoning chant, so how could you have… and you didn’t know any of the basics… should I have waited?” Hinata slaps his cheeks, and she flinches at the sound. “I’m sorry!” he exclaims, dropping to his hands and knees.

She didn’t think she would ever have on their knees with their head down before her, and she never thought she’d see it at eye-level. Her face is heating up.

“I got ahead of myself! I just didn’t want my contract voided! I should have waited for that woman to wake up!”

“Hinata, please— please raise your head. Please.”

“You shoved me down the stairs so you could make a fool out of yourself?” Kageyama storms into the room. There’s dust caught between the fringes on his epaulets, and his long coat is slightly out of place.

Leaping up, Hinata whirls around. “It was an accident,” he grumbles through gritted teeth.

“What are you complaining about, anyway?”

“He wasn’t complaining! It’s just… you all know I’m a total novice! And that I really can’t… do anything.”

“Why does that matter?” Kageyama bluntly asks.

The question is so ridiculous, it slaps the words out of her mouth. “D-Don’t you want to win? Get your wishes? You can’t do that if I don’t know anything!”

“It’ll be hard. But it’ll be even harder if you’re trying to maintain many Servants with those low mana reserves of yours. You should be focusing on maintaining us instead of worrying.”

“Right… that means sleep. And food.” Yachi feels the blood drain out of her face. How much does she have saved up, again? It’s not like her job pays her spectacularly. She hasn’t made any large purchases lately, but for eight men with appetites, that’s a lot. There’s no way she can shell out that kind of money often.

Either she ends up as a withered husk, or her bank account does.

“I guess shopping it is…” It should be late enough for supermarket sales to have begun. There was a cold breeze last night, so she figures she’d better bundle up.

When she starts towards her closet, they’re both still standing there. “Ah, um, so…” They blink at her. “I have to change.”

Hinata doesn’t even hesitate before he drags Kageyama out of the room.

When she tries buttoning her shirt, the buttons come out uneven and crooked. Chatter drifts up from downstairs, much more excitable than hushed business discussions. It sounds distant and dreamlike. Something like that could never be part of her home. Another mismatch. She undoes and retries the buttons again and again. Maybe she’ll just wear a jacket. It’s a cold day, so maybe three or four layers will do.

They’re waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. “So where are we going?” Hinata excitedly asks.

Yachi stops short. “We?”

“Of course!” Hinata puffs up and crosses his arms. “We’re not letting you go out unguarded!”

She understands the sentiment, but having two people in— well, they’re basically costumes— such extravagant clothes following her around is mortifying. Not to mention that two people following her in general isn’t something she can get used to. Last night, when she heard their footsteps behind her, she kept having to fight the urge to dash away.

“If our Master dies,” Kageyama tersely explains, “then the entire faction dies.”

Oh.

Her hands are trembling in her pockets. Well, on the bright side, that meant even the more combative members of the group would be willing to help her, right? But— “You can’t go out. At least not like that!”

“Why not? You’ve provided us with enough mana, so we should be able to look like any other human, at least physica—“

“Not that!” she cuts Kageyama off. “I mean, um…” She holds a trembling finger up towards Kageyama’s outfit. She still can’t figure out what it’s supposed to be—there are epaulets, so military styled, maybe? With really strange cuts all over. “You’ll stand out. You too, Hinata! People of the,” it’s really weird referring to herself as such, “modern era I guess? We don’t dress like that.”

Hinata looks from Kageyama to Yachi, and back to Kageyama. “You do look pretty ridiculous!”

“Like you’re one to talk! What are you supposed to be, a beggar?”

“I don’t know why I look like this! But these are comfortable for me!”

They came home late last night, so nobody was around. But it’s midday now, and the neighbors are all home. If she knows anything from living in this neighborhood, it’s that the housewives gossip. It would be the first thing on their lips as soon as her mother comes home, and then she’d have be lucky to survive the fallout. All of her clothes are patterned, and she’s a fan of skirts. Nothing neutral! Unless…

Hinata and Kageyama don’t question what they’ve been given, and obediently put them on.

“These are so warm!” Hinata marvels, rubbing his hands over his fleece pants. “And soft!”

“Are these normal modern clothes?” Kageyama picks at a loose thread by his waistband.

“If you’re university students, sometimes?”

“They’re strange. But comfortable. I’ll accept them.”

She doesn’t have the heart to tell them that they’re some of her winter pajamas. Can spirits get cold? Her clothes are just barely fitting Kageyama, but it's not like he was well dressed for the cold to begin with. No, she shouldn't think like that! Just in case, she gives them a few jackets.

“Ground, if you could?”

Hinata wilts. “Right.”

Normally, she’d be zipping around, trying to throw potential stalkers off her trail, but she has to slow her pace so the two of them, Hinata particularly, can keep up. Hopefully, the sight of two additional people would deter any murderers or muggers.

“Don’t cling to me, idiot!”

“It’s not like I want to! Do you know how hard it is to walk?”

“You’re like a newborn!”

Hinata grumbles, his face bright red.

She knows the feeling. “Hinata, have you really never walked before?”

“I don’t know.” His voice is hollow. “Maybe once before.”

She decides to drop the subject.

It’s not a long walk to the neighborhood supermarket. All the housewives in the neighborhood are buying in bulk for the week and eager to take advantage of daytime sales. One of her neighbors is inspecting the vegetables, and she waves hello. When Yachi waves back, she wonders why her neighbor is giving her an odd look before she remembers that there are two strange young men tagging along with her.

Before anything gets out of hand, she motions them towards a corner. “Did anyone else say if they wanted any specific food or not?”

“We’ll eat anything! I’m sure the rest of them aren’t picky.”

“Bread, of course. And olives, and wine.”

She has no idea where she’s going to find olives in her small, corner market. At least there are some sales going on. “Anything else?” she asks, even though she’s afraid to know the answer.

“Well, if you’re offering, I’ll take some fish. And most importantly, rice! After all these years, real rice!”

“Why would you eat medicine for a meal?” Kageyama asks.

“Medicine?” Hinata squawks, scandalized. “It’s the food of the gods!”

Arguing means no more input. She tries shushing them, but they still glare at each other— and she really doesn’t know what to do. If they get along, they work well together, and if they work well together, they don’t cause trouble, and if they don’t cause trouble, then she can continue to be invisible and—

The ingredients pile up in her basket, plenty of bread, meat, extra miso, lots of eggs, lots of yakisoba packets…

Hinata somehow manages to get some free samples, and Kageyama is harshly judging the selection at the fish counter, but they are much less confused than she thought they’d be at a modern supermarket.

“Oh, that,” Kageyama says when she asks. “The Grail tells us about the time period. We don’t know everything, but we know enough.”

Apparently, the Grail didn’t tell them details, because Hinata and Kageyama can’t stop marveling at the different packages in the candy section. They’re causing a ruckus, and are physically blocking the entire display, but at least they don’t look like they’re in cosplay.

What about the rest of the Servants? They need clothes too, don’t they? They can’t be walking around in armor!

Rest in peace, her wallet.

Hinata and Kageyama offer to carry all the groceries, and they don’t seem deterred when she tells them that they have to buy more things.

Shopping is a real hassle when she has no idea what any of their sizes are. Tagging along with her mother and coworkers as they got their suits tailored helped, but not by much. And Tsukishima, Sawamura, and Azumane were very, very big.

If anything, she’s glad that Kageyama and Hinata choose to stare at the window decorations.

Largest clothes possible, right? Possibly loose for easier movement? Jackets, because it’s cold, and maybe a few sweaters? She’s never bought clothes for another person before.

“That’s a lot,” Hinata remarks when she walks out of the store with shopping bags lining her arms.

“I didn’t know what to get. I hope I got the right sizes…”

“You picked them, so it’ll be fine!”

Her fingers tighten around the plastic handles. “You believe in me a lot, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

No explanation. No need to prove herself or anything. Even if she doesn’t deserve it. Even if it’s too much for her to handle, knowing that she’s such an inferior candidate.

“You’re very nice…”

“There’s no point in being mean, right?”

“That’s true, but…” Yachi swallows. “Shimizu knows what she’s talking about. She knows magic. She’s probably better prepared for this, so she wouldn’t have to go around, buying food and clothes last minute…” Her arms feel rigid. She stares into the bottom of the shopping bag without seeing anything. “She’d win this war for you. I’d just get you all killed.”

She might even die herself.

Hinata crosses his arms, and makes a humming sound in the back of his throat. “Not interested.”

“B-But why? You know it’s true, you’d have much better chances—”

“That’s true. That Shimizu woman, don’t think she’s a bad person, but she doesn’t act like she knows who I am.”

“Neither do I, though…”

“You didn’t summon me! It’s more like… I get the feeling she wasn’t looking for me. That she was looking for a strong spirit that gets a territory boost in Japan. Any Japanese spirit would have worked. It just happened to be me. You probably don’t know this, since we all talked about this when you were sleeping, but, everyone else has been summoned at least once in some Grail War, somewhere. Even Kageyama!”

Kageyama surprisingly stays silent.

“Everyone except for me. I know that for sure. And you accepted my contract, even if you didn’t mean to. You don’t know about any of this, but you still said yes to helping me! Hrm, I don’t know, but I have a feeling other people probably wouldn’t have said yes.”

“So you’re sure?” Kageyama asks.

“Mmhm! I’m sure we’ll manage!”

Doubt is swirling in her chest. This magic business is very dangerous. Most importantly, she could die. But at the same time, it’s nice to have someone so confident in her. Even if they just met, and are practically strangers, Hinata seems absolutely determined to not let her down. It’s a bad idea, but he’s made it clear that they can’t get anywhere without a Master. Without her. Hinata’s pretty clear that he won’t accept anyone else.

To be needed like this is nice.

“You’re really kind, Hinata.”

Hinata lights up. “My Master praised me! Kageyama, you should work hard and stop being so gloomy, then maybe you’ll get praised too!”

Kageyama smacks him with a bag full of groceries.

 

* * *

 

Yachi’s house is bigger than he thought. Too big for a woman living by herself. Tsukishima goes from room to room, but while they’re all furnished, he can only find a few of them in use. One bedroom is clearly for guests, and the other more personally decorated one has a large bed that’s barely seen any use.

He isn’t looking for bedrooms— he needs a place to work.

“Tsukki!”

Tsukishima’s sigh is thin. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

“What are you, a kid?”

Yamaguchi shrugs. Tsukishima’s strides are long, so he has to hop to keep pace. “What are you looking for?”

“A workplace.” He finds a door by the staircase and makes his way down. “You don’t think I can work with the rest of those meatheads, do you?”

There are only two rooms in the basement- one to house equipment, and the other door is locked. Not to him. With a couple of coaxing words, the door opens with a soft _click_.

“You can’t work anywhere?” Yamaguchi must have followed him down.

“Peace and quiet is the best. You’re a Caster too, you should know.”

The mystery room seems to be a study, all wooden furniture with a single desk in the middle. Cords are scattered about, and all the papers are perfectly contained in file cabinets and folders. A large drafting table is propped up on the side, with paints and pencils carefully balanced along the edges.

This will work.

“Yamaguchi, we need to build a workshop.” When Yamaguchi nods but doesn’t do anything, Tsukishima clarifies, “Use your Noble Phantasm.”

“But we all agreed to not use them! I-If we use too much of our Master’s energy, then she’ll die, and we’ll all lose!”

Tsukishima wrinkles his nose, and steps in front of Yamaguchi. He’s always had two important weapons: his height and his magecraft. “Then how are you moving that body?”

Yamaguchi’s fear smells like rotting sweets, and he clutches his book closer to his chest.

“Your Noble Phantasm is constantly active, isn’t it? You don’t keep it at full power, but it’s still in use. So use it to make a workshop. We’re Casters— we need a workshop. And I can’t make one from scratch.”

Black leather shoes knock together. “We won’t get caught?”

“Who cares if we do? It’s for the greater good.”

Yamaguchi swallows. His hands shake, but he finds Tsukishima’s gaze. “If you think so…”

“I know so.”

With a deep breath, Yamaguchi holds his hands open. The large book flutters above it, its pages rapidly turning. Yellow smoke rushes out from between the pages, filling up the room and twisting the walls like a hazy dream. For a moment, Tsukishima can’t see anything but pale yellow and then with a loud pop, the smoke disperses.

The walls are a bloodied red, and all the wooden furniture is painted black. Half the room is shrouded in shadow, with light only coming from the candles along the walls, and the flames heating the cauldrons. A few desk lights line the tables, but none of them are on. Inside the cauldrons are strange liquids, bubbling up and frothing, but not enough to spill over the edges. Stacks of manuscripts are piled on top of the tables, some even close to the cauldron flames. It looks just like a witch’s lair.

“Really?” he asks, exasperated.

“We need to work.” Yamaguchi takes a seat on one of the red, puffy mushrooms growing out of his side of the room. The blood red and shadows wrap around his side as well, but the floor on his half is dotted with grass and mushrooms that press up on a large bookcase. It doesn’t have a beginning or an end, and somehow stretches beyond the floor and into the ceiling.

“Not like this.”

Yamaguchi looks at him, and between the fear, there’s a frown set on his face. “This isn’t good enough?”

“I’m not a witch.”

“You’re a Caster, right? An old one, from the Age of the Gods. Don’t you need potions and spells and all of that?”

Tsukishima grits his teeth. He stays where he is for a long moment, and then takes off his cloak. Beneath the dark hood is short blonde hair that glimmers in the low light. “Fine. This will do.”

 

* * *

 

When Yachi wakes up for work the next day, Hinata and Kageyama are waiting for her by the entryway again. They look like two bodyguards— which she supposes that in a way, they are.

“I’m going to work now.”

“Right!”

“For eight hours.”

“You’re a hard worker!”

“I don’t know how you can stay with me when I’m working. If I have guests, I’ll get in trouble. What if they going to think you’re creepy? Or murderers? Or throw you out? What if they detain you? I can’t get you out of that!”

Hinata looks like a compressed spring. “But— But we have to protect you.”

“You can’t hang around the store all day! Not that I mind, but it’s really obvious when people do. I don’t want to say that I don’t appreciate you two trying to protect me, but—” There’s no way she’ll be able to explain Hinata and Kageyama to her coworkers, especially since she has the feeling that both of them are bad at lying.

“You can’t use magecraft,” Kageyama bluntly points out. “How do you expect to defend yourself?”

Logically, they’re right. If there is some sort of magical war going on, then being out in the open makes her an easy target.

“Look at you two. My confidence is shrinking faster and faster.”

Hinata whirls around, glaring at Tsukishima coming out of the staircase. His cloak is nowhere to be found, but his dark robes are covered with some sort of light powder. “Don’t complain, you weren’t chosen to guard our Master!”

“I wouldn’t have volunteered. Anyway, your comedy routine is giving me a headache. Haven’t come up with a plan yet?”

“Not yet…” says Kageyama, who looks like admitting it is causing him physical pain.

A self-satisfied, smug look crosses Tsukishima’s face. “Aren’t you two dependable?”

Hinata draws an aggravated breath. “It’s hard! Really hard!”

Tsukishima lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a snort. “So don’t go into the building.” At their wide stares, he adds, “You see this area? There are people everywhere. And there’s probably a lot of people by where she works. So hang around outside. Go into spiritual form, if you’re so worried.”

It’s a reasonable solution. She knows that all of these spirits have superpowers, but she doesn’t know the details. Hinata can fly, but flying right by a busy area is just asking to get photographed. Do they have x-ray vision? Or some sort of spatial manipulation? Or something in those shonen manga that always take up a whole display?

Kageyama stands there, frowning. “I didn’t think you’d help.”

There’s a moment where Tsukishima doesn’t say anything. Then his smug sneer turns dark. “I’ll say it so your tiny brains can catch up, okay? If you make trouble for our Master, or worse, expose us all, then you bring down everyone with it. And I am not,” Tsukishima’s shadow, long and tall, drapes over both of them, “going to let you two airheads ruin it all for me.” He’s not threatening her, but there’s so much disdain in his voice that it feels like smog.

Hinata and Kageyama are gritting their teeth, finally united in mutual disdain. Tsukishima brushes them off with a shrug, and drifts off towards the kitchen.

“Ignore him!” Hinata huffs and grumbles under his breath. “Even if he does have an okay idea.”

They’re both silent, all the way up to the train. The cloud of frustration is stronger than any confusion they might have had towards mass transit and train tickets. 

“He’s… nice.”

“He’s a jerk,” Hinata replies. “And I can’t order him to not be a jerk. I should be able to. I can’t remember my wish, so maybe that’ll be mine until I remember: fix Tsukishima’s personality.”

Kageyama looks equally bitter. “Knowing who he is, it’s not that surprising,” but he still looks like Tsukishima personally punched him in the face.

“I guess. I can’t believe he’s worse than you!”

“Shut up.”

“Let’s all try to get along, okay? Please?”

Hinata shoves his hands into his pockets with a grumble. His eyes widen when he realizes what he’s done. He wiggles his hands a few times, testing the depth, then puffs up in satisfaction. Right, traditional clothing doesn’t have pockets, does it?

“If you say so! So where are you working?”

The train pulls in, and they follow her inside. There aren’t as many people on the platform as usual, which she thinks is probably for the best. Usually the first car is the most crowded, and she’s not sure how well Hinata and Kageyama do with crowds. Moving into the car takes only the usual amount of pushing. They manage to get a seat, three people squeezed into a spot made for two.

She almost doesn’t feel like answering. It’s not the best job, after all. Her fingers drum on her knees. “I work at Junkudou. Nothing special, just shelving stuff and processing orders, mostly.”

“A merchant, then?” Hinata asks.

“I suppose so.”

“Junkudou is what?”

“A bookstore.”

“I see! So you’re in charge of educating people, then!”

“No! Nothing that grand, I’m not a teacher!” If anything, she helps people sift through magazines, and tries not to be too weirded out by the guys in the corner, silently looking through gravure pinups.

“But you do sell things worthy for archives, don’t you?” Kageyama doesn’t look at her; distracted by the passing scenery across the window.

“Probably?”

“Then it’s worth working for.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“You don’t like your work?”

It’s not a case of like or dislike. Her coworkers are all nice to her, and her bosses are fairly reasonable. She’s held jobs before where her bosses used to berate her for her nerves, but nobody has complained about it yet. At the same time, something’s not right. “It’s okay.”

Kageyama shrugs. The train car sways him left and right, and he lets his head knock back against the windowpane.

Sendai Station is a busy hub, and getting out of the car is especially tricky. It’s rush hour, and everyone stands on the edge of the platform when the trains roll in. She’s memorized the signs on the platform and where people idle around the announcement board. The entire structure of the station is drilled into her memory, after weeks of routine. When they exit, they have to squeeze through the narrow spaces in the crowd, like threading a needle. Just when she loses sight of them, they appear by her side. Nobody has ever been this dedicated to staying nearby her, not even her old friends.

It’s not a long walk from the station exit to the store. Hinata’s glowing, practically drooling at the idea of leaping inside. Kageyama’s already grabbing his hood, just in case. “We’ll be around. There will be no trouble.”

“Yeah! Don’t worry! We’ll be absolutely sure to protect you! If anything happens, just think as hard as you can, and we’ll come running!”

The fact that she’s in danger in the first place makes her mind spin. Still, Hinata’s reassurance is comforting, in an anxiety-inducing way. “Okay, I’ll try.”

She hasn’t felt this nervous walking into work since her first day. Just in case, she looks back. Hinata and Kageyama aren’t behind her.

Kamasaki’s shelving magazines in the front of the store when she gets onto the floor. “Are you feeling better?” is the first thing he asks.

“Yes! Of course! I mean—” A lie, she needs a quick lie, “I wasn’t feeling too well. And I needed a sick day. But I should be fine now, don’t worry!” She belatedly adds a small cough at the end. It’s probably not convincing, but she’s desperate.

Even so, Kamasaki just cracks a grin. “Right! Glad to hear that!” He playfully ruffles her hair, “You never call out, so we got worried.”

Her mother always drilled into her: effort, effort, work ethic, work ethic, so to have to lie to Kamasaki twice is turning her stomach. “There’s not too much to shelve, is there?” she asks, deflecting her worries with a question.

“Nah, yesterday was a slow day.”

“That’s good. That’s good. Right.” Her throat feels dry. She’s not used to asking people for favors, and she’s not used to prying eyes on her in return.

She could ask later, but it’s the perfect opportunity. Few customers, nobody else around, no management looking on the cameras… “Kamasaki, um… I have a favor to ask. It’s really weird so I’m sorry in advance!”

“Weird?” Kamasaki puts the pile of magazines down. “I can’t judge that until you say it! What’s up?”

“Last week you said were cleaning your house, right? Do you happen to have any spare clothes that you were planning on giving away?”

She doesn’t expect him to laugh. “That’s not even close to the weirdest question I’ve gotten! You should hear what Sasaya asks me sometimes.”

Laughter has never been something she’s very fond of. She likes hearing it, but at the same time, the possibility that they could be laughing at her is all too uncomfortable. Something in the back of her head reminds her that Kamasaki probably isn’t making fun of her.

“But you’re out of luck— Moniwa grabbed them all earlier.”

“Oh…” There goes the one person she felt comfortable asking such a weird question. And at least Moniwa’s request makes sense! Even if he’s shorter than Kamasaki, he’s still a guy!

“You could try auctions?”

“I need them quickly though, auctions are no good…”

She’s grateful that Kamasaki doesn’t ask details about her request. He just scratches his head. “You could see if there are any bargain stores around, there has to be some by the station.”

“Ah— right. Yeah! I could do that. Thank you!”

Before she can scurry off to the backroom, Kamasaki stops her mid-step. “Oh yeah. There’s a new kid that just started today. Train him, will you? I stuck him in fiction for now, so say hello!”

It’s been some time since they had new hires. They’ve been severely understaffed for a while now.

She spots a new face huddled in the fiction aisle, dressed in the white collared shirt and teal apron combo that makes up their uniform. He looks like a young man, maybe a few years older than she is, with dark hair tied back in a ponytail. He’s hunched over, and slowly rearranging the titles. Maybe he spotted her— it’s hard to tell, since he doesn’t turn around when she stands next to him.

“Um, excuse me!”

Only then does he turn her way. Even then, he’s not really looking at her, more at the space next to her head. 

“I just wanted to say hello! Yachi Hitoka, pleased to meet you!”

The young man holds her gaze for a moment, and then drops it just as quickly. “Kozume… Kenma.”

She reads the kanji on his nametag. Unusual, but not too hard.

“So, Kamasaki— you know, the really tall guy with the blonde hair?— put me in charge of training you!” What’s something manager-like to say? “Don’t be afraid to ask me questions!” That works, probably.

Kozume nods and doesn’t add anything else.

“Have you ever worked at a bookstore before?”

“No. I used to do some bookkeeping a long time ago, though.”

“Alright, then this shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Books are useful.” Kozume fixes a cover that’s out of place. “It’s much easier to be here.”

She nods in understanding. She’d much rather work here than at a conbini. “Ah, um, I’ll teach you the basics! So just follow me around today, okay? I’m probably not a good teacher but— but I’ll try!”

Kozume is patient. He listens to her explain the shelving rules and how the sections are arranged without cutting in. He doesn’t comment when she forgets words or her tongue gets jumbled. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all.

It’s a little unnerving. He dutifully follows her every move, and stares at every sign until he’s committed it to memory. When she rearranges some of the tables, he studies her hands and each cover that she touches. His eyes are like needles on the back of her neck. It feels like she’s being dissected.

“Any questions?”

He looks at the neatly arranged table, and then at her. “Why is there a scarf around your hand?”

Yachi follows his gaze to her right hand, the one Nishinoya bandaged up with his blue scarf to hide her Command Seals. “Um, uh— fashion.”

“I see.” It feels like he doesn’t believe her, but it’s not like he has any reason to not believe her, right?

She still feels very awkward when they have to stand at the help desk together. Kozume doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to her. She’s okay with the silence, and there aren’t many customers today, but she’s in a supervisory role for the day. Not saying anything feels rude, and she absolutely can’t be rude. If only he’d say one thing, it would make her feel so much better— but he’s not, and—

“So… are you in school?”

“No…”

“Did you graduate? I have yet to, but…”

“I finished my studies.”

“Oh, that’s good. Do you live far? I hope the commute isn’t too bad. We’re right by the station, but sometimes the trains are a little crowded.”

“Mm.”

“Some people live far. Kamasaki’s all the way in Natori.”

“Tokyo.”

There’s no way that’s right. He’s looking at the computer, and doesn’t seem to be waiting for her to get the joke.

“How do you afford the train tickets?” And more importantly... “You could have applied to one of our Tokyo branches, isn’t that much closer?”

“This place hired me.” Kozume’s eyes don’t move from the screen.

“Still, that’s six hours away!”

“An… uncle of mine offered his place to stay but he’s in Tokyo. But he has an apartment nearby. It’s not that far.”

“As long as it’s not all the way from Tokyo…”

Kozume continues looking at the screen. His silence is probably the best reply she’s going to get. He keeps his eyes fixed to the screen, scrolling through lists and sale records. She’s not sure if he’s shy, or just doesn’t want to talk, although she gets the impression that he’s not a large fan of people. Hopefully she didn’t do anything to upset him. A bad impression on the first day is a one way trip towards homelessness and then organ trafficking!

“So—”

“You don’t have to talk if it’s making you nervous.”

His words catch her off guard. She swallows. “Thank you. But if we’re going to be working together, I think we should at least be nice to each other! Even if I think I’m going to pass out right now!”

“Oh. Alright.” A pause. “Don’t pass out.”

“I’ll try not to!”

The rest of the hour at the desk is relatively peaceful, until Kozume abruptly stands up. “Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.”

Before she can ask if he knows the way, he’s already gone.

A customer is coming her way. Her regular greeting is halfway out of her mouth before she recognizes them.

“Yachi!” Hinata’s voice carries through the store, and he clamps his hands over his mouth. He’s trying to hurry towards her, but with his legs the way they are, he’s going for of a quick, awkward hobble. Before he can start talking, she runs out from behind the desk and pulls him into the stacks.

“Whoa, what’s going on? And your store is so huge!”

“What’s happening? I didn’t think hard towards you! And where’s Kageyama?”

Hinata makes a face. “He saw some musicians on the street and wanted to watch.”

She really, really hopes that Kageyama isn’t causing trouble somewhere.

“Yachi, did you sense anything weird? Wait, you’re no good with magecraft.”

A prickle of fear runs across her cheeks.

“There’s a trace of… some magecraft in the store. Not like regular people, for sure. It’s not a Bounded Field or a Territory. More like something passed through. Like one of these people, I guess!” he gestures at a man across the floor, flipping through a book. “But nobody tried to hurt you, right?”

“N-No.” It’s hard to control her tongue. One of the dangerous things that those Servants talked about crossed her path, and she didn’t even know. She was in danger, and she didn’t even know. It wasn’t like a random chance encounter; one of them had been in her bookstore, in the place where she works. Even if nothing happened, she was just closer to danger than ever before.

Hinata peers at her, his brown eyes wild and distinctly inhuman. A second later, he pulls back, and he looks like a regular person again. “Nothing on you! Guess it really was just someone passing by.”

Her throat is thick, and it’s hard to breathe. Her fingers tangle together inside her apron pocket. “You will be keeping watch, right?”

“You can count on us!”

Hinata had sensed the presence through the bookstore after all. Something could have happened, something definitely could have happened and she could be no better than a filleted fish, but she is still very whole and very solid and still breathing.

“Do you have coworkers? I want to meet your coworkers!”

“I can’t have guests at work.”

“Next time, then?”

“I don’t think so!”

“Hey, Yachi.” Kamasaki walks up next to them, tall and intimidating. “Is this guy giving you trouble?”

“Oh! No, he’s not!”

Hinata’s just waiting to be introduced, but if something goes wrong, it could look like he’s trying to rile Kamasaki up. Kamasaki’s face is tense and unconvinced, a solid figure of deterrence.

“Kamasaki, this is Hinata. Hinata, Kamasaki. He’s my… well, he’s not my boss, but he’s above me, so he’s kind of my boss?”

“A friend of yours?” Kamasaki relaxes a little, but he still keeps his eyes firmly on Hinata.

“Even better! I’m her S—“

Yachi has never moved so fast in her life. “Super great roommate! Right, Hinata? Right?”

“Yeah! Okay!” says Hinata, who clearly has no idea what he’s talking about.

Kamasaki doesn’t even budge. He looks like he’s seen it all before. He probably has. “Didn’t know you got a roommate.”

“It’s a recent thing. Really recent.”

“Cool. I don’t mind if you want to stay and chat, but don’t do it loudly or in front of the cameras, okay?”

“It’s okay, I’m leaving anyway. See you later, Yachi!”

Hinata hobbles out of the store, his head swiveling left and right as he takes everything in. He pauses by the doorway, temporarily distracted by the magazines, before finally leaving.

“Is he okay?” Kamasaki asks.

“His uh, knees are hurting.”

“That’s a pain. So, roommate?”

“Right.” It’s not exactly a lie.

“Is your mom going to be okay with you living with a guy? Isn’t she kind of a hardass?”

She doesn’t even want to think about her mother near any part of this mess. If only, please, please, please, let her stay abroad until this is all cleared up.

“She doesn’t… exactly know?”

“Oh.” Kamasaki claps a hand on her shoulder. “Nice.”

Kozume comes back towards the desk, his hands in his pockets, pausing when he sees Kamasaki and Yachi standing nearby. He quickly drops his gaze, and shuffles back behind the desk, halfway hiding himself with the computer monitor.

At least Kozume wasn’t there.

“Kamasaki… right?” Kozume’s voice comes from behind the monitor.

“That’s me. What’s wrong?”

“There’s a couple by the cookbooks and they are… getting intense.”

Kamasaki rolls up his sleeves. “Not on my watch,” he declares and goes stomping off.

The last thing she wants to be is out in the open in case any customers decide to voice their complaints. “Kozume,” she says, shrinking under the monitor so no customers see her unless they approach the desk, “You’ll tell me if somebody weird comes in, right?”

“Somebody… weird?”

“We get crazy people sometimes.”

Kozume blinks. “Should be fine.” He turns back to the stock counts. “Probably.”


	3. Headless Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Skitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne) for additional support this chapter as well!

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here.”

Yachi pauses, her toothbrush still in her hand. A dollop of toothpaste slides off the bristles and plops into the sink.

Shimizu stares back from the doorway. “I’d like to stay here.”

That’s what she thought she heard.

Shimizu continues, undeterred. “I will have to contact the rest of the clan and explain the situation, but that can be done later. I’ll be happy to pay rent, and—”

A beautiful woman in her house. Living with her. Sharing her bathroom and sleeping just a few rooms away.

“—can be made. Is that okay? If it’s not, I could always buy a house in the area.”

Beautiful _and_ rich! Shimizu’s practically a goddess, and Yachi is a pillbug not even worthy to grace the ground she treads on.

“I, uh. Sure?”

Shimizu’s lips part, as if she’s about to say something. She closes them tight and breathes in before she says, "Thank you."

Yachi has to stop herself from blurting out a thanks back for deeming her worthy to be a proper roommate. More food, more supplies, more constant interaction.

"But I interrupted you. We can discuss this further once you're done."

"Okay," Yachi mechanically replies, and Shimizu takes her leave with a small nod of her head.

The sound of the dripping sink fills the bathroom. Her ribcage is filled with goo. Yachi can barely breathe as she attempts to squeeze more toothpaste onto her brush. Calm down, calm down, deep breathing. It's not like Shimizu doesn't have a valid reason to be there! She knows more about this magic stuff than anyone else, especially her, and it would be nice to get more of an explanation.

She catches her reflection in the mirror: her nightgown hanging low over her protruding collarbone, and quickly straightens it. She scrubs her teeth until her gums bleed.

Shimizu is waiting in Yachi’s room, seated in her worn computer chair and staring out the window. All of Yachi's clothes are a bit too tight on her, so a baggy shirt she won at a giveaway is on her shoulders. The morning light shimmers across her dark glasses, and sends a splash of blue across her hair. The wooden floor feels cold, but maybe that’s just her body, as stiff as an icicle. Yachi hurries in and plops down on her bed, crossing her ankles a few times.

“I can still sleep on the couch,” Shimizu starts, “but I’d prefer not to.”

“I couldn’t let you do that!” All the boys sleep down there, and it can’t be comfortable to be sharing a room with eight other people. “I have a spare guest room. It’s the one down the hall. Not the one to the left— that’s my mother’s room. She doesn’t like it when people go in there when she’s not home.”

“Where is your mother? She hasn’t been here since I arrived.”

“She’s on a business trip. Will be for a while.”

“And she’s…?”

“A graphic designer.”

“And your father?”

Yachi’s tongue grows thick. She shakes her head.

Shimizu’s eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I never really got to know him.”

She isn’t sure if Shimizu tenses or she does, but she finds herself drawing back on the bed and pulling the blanket over her knees.

“Let me confirm one thing first,” Shimizu says, and Yachi’s back snaps straight. “Have you really never heard of magecraft?”

“No, never.”

“Your mother never mentioned it?”

“No.” When Shimizu frowns slightly, Yachi swallows. “Is that bad?”

“Yes, but no matter.” Shimizu clears her throat. “I’ll give you the basics.”

Yachi doesn’t know why she nods so hard. “Okay.”

“Mana is the energy of life. Everything that lives is filled with it: plants, animals, humans, gods. There’s mana that exists in nature, and then there’s od, the mana in a mage’s body. That mana is the fuel that mages use to perform magecraft.”

“Like that man with the black bullets?”

Shimizu glances bitterly at her bandaged hand. “Exactly. And Servants are also made of mana. They don’t have physical bodies— what you see isn’t flesh and blood. It’s your mana that keeps them all alive, and they’ll act as your familiars. It seems like you get along well with Hinata.”

Outside, the wind kicks up. The cars are rushing down below, fighting hard against the wind. “He’s… not bad,” Yachi admits.

“I see. But just in case, you have those,” Shimizu points to the Command Seals hidden by the scarf on Yachi’s hand. “They can force a Servant to do anything— and I mean _anything_. Your personal mana is very low, so that will be your trump card instead. There are seven Servants in every war, and that hasn’t changed. So with seven faction leaders, like Hinata, there will be seven Masters as well.”

“But how can I tell who they are?”

“They’ll have Command Seals. The pattern won’t be the same, but they’ll have the same energy, and they always end up on a Master’s hand. They can’t be covered up with makeup— it will just shine through.”

Luckily, Nishinoya’s scarf seems to cover hers up well enough. So makeup won’t work, but long sleeves just might. “So all Masters are mages, but not all mages are Masters?”

“Exactly.”

“Except for me.”

“No. You’re a mage too.”

“I don’t…”

“You _are._ You couldn’t have become a Master if you weren’t a mage.”

Yachi swallows. That’s logical, and it _terrifies_ her.

“But you’ve never used magecraft before, and your Magic Circuits are probably atrophied. It’s not a good idea to go through a Grail War with no knowledge of magecraft.” Shimizu draws a breath up her spine, and places her hand over her heart. “So as the leader of Karasuno, I pledge to support you.”

“You don’t have to do that! I mean, I’m grateful, but— from what it sounds like, I stole your place, didn’t I?” Her eyes bounce from one end of her bed to the other. She traces thick lines across her knees. “And I’m here because of bad luck.”

“Yes,” Shimizu replies plainly.

Yachi winces, then drops her head. “I’m so sorry!”

Shimizu’s hands are smooth marble on her lap. She’s crossed them beautifully, enough for Yachi to feel ashamed. A small sigh. “You didn’t intentionally sabotage me.”

“You’re so polite…” She’s taking it gracefully. Too gracefully.

“I promise not to steal your Command Seals. I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll teach you everything you need to know about the Grail War.” When Yachi takes a peek, Shimizu’s expression is firm. “In return, you must do something for me.”

“Of course! Anything!”

“If you win the war, then grant my wish.”

The Holy Grail grants a miracle, and Shimizu’s asking her to turn that over. Yachi can’t even imagine what she’d wish for if she won, but the idea of handing it over so easily makes her stomach gurgle. Of course, if she hadn’t interfered in the first place, the wish would’ve been Shimizu’s to begin with. No matter which way she looks at it, one thing is obvious: she’s riding on stolen goods.

“It’s not anything terrible, don’t worry,” Shimizu’s voice is just on the edge of gentle. “The only person my wish will affect is me.”

“Can I ask… what it is?”

“When you know more about magecraft, you’ll understand.”

It’s not an easy situation, but it _is_ her responsibility. While she’s not exactly comfortable with the vagueness of Shimizu’s wish, she’s in no position to judge. “Okay.” She thrusts out her hand, strong and straight, just like her mother taught her. “Deal.”

Shimizu hesitates before returning the handshake. Her fingers are long, and her nails smooth and round. The skin between her calluses is soft. Yachi has to force herself to let go.

A shuffle, as the door creaks open. Once Yachi spots Hinata and Kageyama peering in, she steals her hand back and bolts underneath the covers.

“W-We were just...passing by,” Hinata stammers, “to the—the uh—”

“—the bathroom,” Kageyama finishes.

“Right, the bathroom.”

“It’s alright,” Shimizu assures them. “I’m not going to hurt her. I’m your ally now.”

Kageyama stares flatly at her, but Hinata’s bobbing up and down in the air, lips pinched shut in anticipation. All it takes is for Shimizu to return eye contact for him to blurt out, “I can’t remember my name! But if you gathered all our catalysts, then maybe you’d know. If you’re our ally, then tell me!”

“Calm down,” Kageyama growls, but Hinata shrugs him off.  

Shimizu studies him, from his clothes to his wispy hair. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Hinata’s face falls. “But you prepared the catalysts…”

“I didn’t prepare that one.” She shifts uncomfortably. “I have an associate at the Clocktower— part of the Association. He owed me a favor, and promised me he’d deliver a catalyst for the war to settle the debt. He said it would be a high-ranking Japanese Servant, but he didn’t say which one.” She turns to Yachi. “And you’re sure that the mage who gave it to you…”

Yachi shakes her head. The man with the black bullets was too flashy and confidant to have been acting alone. Then there was that strange sound from behind her, not long after she had left him behind.

All Shimizu does is nod. “I see.”

A chilly reaction. Yachi swallows. It didn’t seem like the two of them knew each other well, but a life is still a life. The man was breathing, pleading, bleeding out…

Blood in the dim streetlights, creeping into the cracks on the pavement. Yachi burrows further under the blankets.

“If that’s the case, then there’s no way to know for sure,” Shimizu says. “I’ve run out of favors to call in. Unfortunately, the catalyst itself is too vague.”

The smooth stone is on the desk, right next to a worn pencil case. Kageyama follows Yachi’s gaze to the desk. “It’s… a rock.”

“Yes,” Shimizu cradles it in the palm of her hand. “No curses. No magecraft at all, actually.”

A groan from the ground, where Hinata’s sunk facefirst. “No chance of anyone else recognizing me, is there?”

“Seven factions with about seven Spirits makes about forty-nine, not even a sliver of the Throne,” Kageyama says, and Hinata lets out another whine. “Quit groaning on the floor, idiot! And Yachi—don’t you have to go to work?”

Yachi leaps out of bed with a shriek. Two minutes later she’s dressed, and she just barely remembers to grab her passbook before jetting out the door. Tanaka’s yelling after her but by the time his voice registers she’s already halfway down the block. She’s probably already missed her usual train, and if she misses the next one, then she’s going to have to fight just to get some floor space. Her socks have already slipped under her heels, but she doesn’t have time to adjust them. It’s only five minutes to the train station, she can make it—

A gust of wind knocks her to the side, like an invisible boar rumbling past her. Rubber squeals and leaves black tracks on the ground as Kageyama screeches to a halt. He’s ruffled, out of breath, and just as shocked as Yachi is. Hinata’s trailing behind him, dangling from Kageyama’s arm like a balloon. Before she can ask how or tell Hinata to stop floating before anyone sees, Kageyama grabs him by the collar and slams him into the ground. “You almost broke my neck!”

“But we caught up!” Hinata protests, barely fazed from hitting concrete. He stumbles to his feet, stubbing his toe before finding his balance. “Yachi, why’d you leave us behind?”

It’s hard to come up with words when her tongue is numb. “I’m late?”

“Then let’s hurry!”

Kageyama has to drag Hinata behind him so they don’t lose time, but they just barely make it. The people waiting for the train form a long, thick hedge, and they have to elbow their way inside the train cars. Hinata and Kageyama end up sandwiching her, and she’s not sure which is worse, being pressed up against two strangers, or being pressed up against two acquaintances.

“You seem happy,” Kageyama says. He can’t tilt his chin without knocking into someone’s outstretched arm, so he has to look down his nose at her.

“I think I prefer the earlier train.” She presses her hands closer to her chest, so they won’t knock into anything or worse- anyone.

“Not about this. Nobody could be happy about this. I mean about that magus.”

Yachi squeaks, pushing her hands harder against her collarbone; splotches of heat are rising on her cheeks. Shimizu is beautiful _,_ probably the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her life. The girls behind magazine paper and desktop screens are gorgeous, but too distant to be real. But Shimizu is tall, slender, and fearless. Her hair is glossy in the sunlight, and her eyelashes are long, framing the loveliest dark eyes. Even her name is just like an actress’ or an idol’s, someone too far away from Yachi’s dull life.

“What were you talking about, anyway?”

Yachi gives a quick shake of her head, scattering her thoughts. “She said that she’ll be staying in my house since… since she’s an ally now.” She glances between the two of them. “You won’t hurt her, right?”

“If she’s going to help us, then okay.” Hinata buries his hands into his pockets, and sticks out his lower lip in a pout.

Yachi sighs. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Oh _no._ Only when Hinata and Kageyama stare at her does she realize she said that out loud.

“Just because someone’s beautiful doesn’t mean they can be trusted,” Kageyama retorts.

“R-Right.” Perfectly logical. “Do you think she’s dangerous?”

“She’s a mage.”

“Are they the same thing?”

Kageyama stares straight ahead.

“I don't know her all that well, but..." Yachi runs her teeth along her lower lip. "She's going to be living with me. She wouldn't try anything with you guys around, right?" No reply. "I-I guess I could always talk to her. Find out what her intentions are." She digs her nails into her palm. "You think that could work?”

“You’re our Master,” is all Kageyama replies with.

Their expressions are unreadable as they get off the train.

When they get to the employee entrance, Yachi has her hand on the doorknob before she notices the two behind her, standing stiffly. Both are bristling and alert, like they’ve been zapped with electricity. She’s about to ask what’s wrong before she remembers the other day, and Hinata’s ominous warning.

Her fingertips are icy needles as she asks, “Again?”

“No spells. Just passing through.” Hinata crosses his arms and frowns at the storefront. “Is there a mage in the area every day?”

Sendai Station is never empty. For all she knows, mages could pass by the store every hour.

Kageyama’s frown is deeper than usual, a mark of doubt. She stands uncertainly, wrestling with fear and responsibility. There’s no way she _can’t_ go to work; she needs the money, and she’s already missed out on a bit by calling out yesterday. “If anything happens, I’ll - I’ll think really hard at you two, okay?”

Hinata waves tentatively at her, and before she can wave back, they’re swept away by an oncoming crowd.

Moving as quickly as she can, she slips her work apron over her head and ties up her hair. Is someone going to jump out at her? Is she going to have to find out if a book can deflect a magical bullet? No crazy wind or black light greets her when she swings the door open wide and walks onto the main floor. Even as she tries to settle into her routine, anxiety prickles at the back of her mind.

Kozume is slouching over one of the tables, rearranging the books so the display looks tidy. The sweatshirt he has underneath his apron is too big for him, and his fingers just barely peek out of the sleeves. A sleeve engulfs a stack of books, considers swallowing it, and then lets it fall into a neat pile. He jumps when she comes close, and his wide eyes find her, blinking madly.

“Sorry, did I scare you?”

“It’s fine.”

They say their good mornings at the same time.

It was Kozume’s first day when Hinata came into the store and detected a mage. Today, Kageyama and Hinata both sensed that something was off. She swallows, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. Could Kozume be another Master? His sleeve snags on an uneven pile of fashion books, and exposes his right hand. She squints at it, but it’s pattern-free, nothing like the garish tattoo on hers hidden beneath a blue scarf. Now, if only he’d have an accident on his other one...

A displeased sound. Kozume shifts on his feet. He must have noticed her staring.

“There’s some,” she points to her left wrist, “pen marks.”

Kozume rolls up his sleeve to check. No tattoos there either, but what stops her breath is how thin his wrist is. There’s muscle on his arms, but they’re tight against his skin. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. By the dark circles under his eyes, it looks like he hasn’t slept, either.

She fishes out the small apple turnover in her pocket, all wrapped up in tissue paper. Even though she planned to snack on it while she was standing at the desk, she’s not the one who needs it the most. “Kozume, do you want some? I promise it’s not old! Or poisoned— I’d never poison anyone, but you never know, just to be safe! I bought it today, so it should be fresh and you look like you didn’t have any breakfast… or lunch… or dinner…”

“What is it?”

“It’s an apple turnover. There’s a bakery nearby here, and they make a fresh batch every morning. It’s a Western-style treat, but it’s good.”

Kozume’s eyes flick sideways. His hands follow they return to the turnover. He holds it like he’s holding a bag of glass, before nibbling at it. When he finally bites into the sweet filling, his gold eyes widen. “It’s good.”

“Did you eat breakfast?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh. Then go ahead. You need it more than I do!”

Kozume averts his eyes. “Not really.”

They both flinch when Kamasaki claps one hand on each of their shoulders. “What’s going on, you two? Planning on burning the store down?”

“I’m too young to go to jail!” Yachi protests.

“If you say so.” He peers down at Kozume’s exposed wrist and frowns. “Whoa - why are you so thin?”

Kozume yanks his sleeve down back over his hands. He tries backing away, but Kamasaki’s in his path, and Yachi’s right between his escape route and the table. “It’s alright,” he mumbles.

“Have you eaten at all?”

“No…”

“You’re going to be on your feet without food? No way.”

“But—”

“We’re feeding you,” Kamasaki’s voice is firm. “I’ll bring in extra bread tomorrow.”

Kozume winces, but he nods before worming through the barricade and rushing back towards the stockroom.

“Was that okay?” Yachi asks.

Kamasaki doesn’t hesitate in his response, “Not like this place pays us much. We have to watch out for our own.”

Even though she keeps watching the shadows, her shift is an easy one. It’s not peaceful, but the stream of customers and particular questions are so much more normal than the last two days.

It’s also much easier having another person on the floor. In such a busy area, they get a lot of curious people wandering into the store, and wanderers bring a lot of questions. Kozume never makes direct eye contact and hurries past crowds whenever he can, but he’s a careful shelver. He’s also memorized the entire layout of the store in just a few days, a feat that took Yachi a few months to get exactly right. He’s definitely the type of person who memorizes phone numbers easily and never forgets his passwords. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was a shy AI, swallowing up data and processing them in a few seconds.

Now that she thinks about it, she’s never seen Kozume eat, even during their lunch breaks. Sure, they haven’t been working together for very long, but she’d expect to see him nibbling on some onigiri, or maybe a convenience store bento. All the times she’s seen Kozume in the break room, he’s either reading a book or texting, never with any food nearby. If his uncle from Tokyo sent him to live here, then he must have some sort of budget, right?

“Have I ever seen Kozume eat? Don’t think so.” Kamasaki pauses looking through logs to think. “Yeah, don’t think I ever have. He doesn’t take any food out of his locker, either. I can’t imagine skipping lunch with the work they put on us. Worried?”

“A little,” she admits. She’s only spent one day at work without breakfast, and she thought she was going to fall over.

“I think we can afford to feed a starving coworker every once in awhile. Actually, he liked that dessert you gave him earlier, why not take him to a bakery sometime?”

He shoots her a thumbs up, and she shakily gives one back.

None of her coworkers have ever asked her to hang out after work, and she has no idea how to go about it. If she does it wrong, he might think she’s trying to hit on him. Could she get hit with a workplace harassment complaint? Could she get fired? Would she have to interview for her next job shamefully admitting that she had to be fired for that?

Her legs are a trembling mess when she approaches Kozume by the manga section. “Um, Kozume?” Another book finds the shelf. She can’t see his face very well, not with the stack of books he’s holding, but one of his eyes makes its way to her. “When are you free?”

The question seems to startle him, and his grip on the stack loosens. At the top of the pile, a thin magazine sways, unsure whether it should take the plunge.  

“I just — you liked the turnover, so I thought maybe I could show you where to get it? I’m not asking you out — I promise! It’s nearby.”

The shock has sunk into Kozume’s bones. His lone eye shifts away from her, and hides itself within the books. He doesn’t speak for a minute. “Alright… I guess.”

Even if he agreed, Yachi’s still cycling through replays of that horrible, potentially misleading question. She hears the plastic wrap on the books crinkle as Kozume adjusts himself, and his response comes flooding in. “Oh! Okay, um. Okay! I guess we’ll go after work?”

“Also—”

“Yes! What is it?”

“—I’m scheduled for the desk, but could you cover me for a few minutes? I have to go grab something from downstairs.”

“Sure, I’ll—” But Kozume is already darting away. He must have a weak stomach. Even if their manager isn’t there today, there are still cameras around, and they’ll all get a talking to if nobody’s at the desk during peak hours.

She hasn’t been standing there for long when someone comes up to her, and she flashes her best customer service smile on instinct, before she realizes the person’s no stranger.

Moniwa Kaname doesn’t come by often enough to be considered a regular, but he’s a frequent enough visitor that all the staff recognizes him. He’s a little shorter than Kamasaki, but he adds a couple centimeters to his height with his thick-soled shoes. His usual attire of collared shirts and dress pants made him look like either a businessman or a really cheerful yakuza. “How are you, Yachi?”

“Good! My feet are very sore today, though.”

“I bet.” Moniwa glances down. “What’s with the scarf?”

She pulls her right hand under the desk. “It’s trendy.”

“Is it? I can’t keep up with this stuff.”

“Are you looking for Kamasaki? I’ll—”

Moniwa yelps as he’s pulled into a headlock. “Already here,” Kamasaki announces, rapping his knuckles playfully on Moniwa’s skull. “I thought I heard you.”

Moniwa lasts a few seconds before he taps out. Yachi’s not sure who she’s more amazed at— Moniwa for taking Kamasaki’s headlock straight on, or Kamasaki for assaulting his friend in front of the security cameras.

“So,” Kamasaki leans on the desk, “just you today? Where’s Sasaya?”

“Had to run some reactions. He said that you still need to pay him back for curry.”

“Ugh, I said I’d pay him, alright? And what happened to _you_?”

Moniwa grimaces, and covers the bandage on his left hand. “You know how things are…”

“You got burned again? Still can’t use the oven, huh.”

A strained smile flits across Moniwa’s face.

“Oven mitts are your friend.”

“Don’t say it like I planned on it! It’s fine, nothing ointment can’t help. But— okay. I can’t stay long. I need a favor.”

“You could at least bribe me first.”

“I’ll take you out for hotpot.”

“My man. Make it wagyu beef.”

“Are you trying to kill my budget? The lab doesn’t pay me that much, you know!” Moniwa composes himself with a cough. “Something came up, but I was supposed to meet with my group project members to pick up some materials. Could you pick them up for me?” He claps his hands together and bows his head. “Please!”

“Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“A folder with some samples. My group member does tours at Aoba Castle, and I was supposed to pick it up after his shift ended, but— well.”

Kamasaki crosses his arms, and nods. “Wagyu beef.”

“Fine! Wagyu beef! I can’t believe you’re holding my thesis hostage.”

“That’s what best friends are for.” Kamasaki slaps Moniwa playfully on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get your files.”

Moniwa flashes a smile, all teeth. “Thanks. See you around.” They bump fists before Moniwa hurries out of the store. There’s rarely a time when Yachi sees him relaxed; he’s always hurrying from one place to another.

He’s just out of sight when Kamasaki pauses, and then curses so loud all the patrons nearby turn in shock. “Are you okay?” she asks, once Kamasaki’s stopped groaning.

“Yeah. I just— ugh, I’m such an idiot, I forgot that I promised I’d visit my folks later tonight. My mom can’t drive, and my old man’s got a busted knee— I can’t do both!” He swivels around so fast, only the chairs behind the desk stop her from recoiling. “Wait. Yachi, are you free after work?”

“I, uh, ah… I’ve never been to Aoba Castle before?” Now that she thinks about it, she's never visited any of the historical sights in the area. Maybe Kiyomizu Temple once, but that’s it. Nothing worth any stories. Even if Aoba Castle is relatively nearby where she works, it’s never crossed her mind. She’s always been too tired. Too busy. Never bothered.

“Me neither, guess that’s what happens when you’re close by all the time. You can take the bus there, I think? Please? I’ll pay for your ticket.”

“I’m a little busy.”

“I’ll pay for your groceries.”

“A-Alright. I’ll have to tell my roommate.”

“The little guy, right?”

She has a hard time agreeing, since Hinata is still taller than she is.

Kamasaki breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver. Oh - and don’t tell Moniwa. I really need that dinner.”

She spends the rest of her shift wondering what she got herself into.

 

* * *

 

Yachi didn’t tell Kenma where they’re going or why she asked him of all people. As he changes out of his uniform, his reflection stares back at him. Did he brush his hair this morning? The handprint on his shoulder from a few days ago is still there, red and blotchy.

He really hopes this isn’t a date. That would be too much bad luck to handle.

It’s doubtful Yachi is the type for spontaneous dates. She’s too flighty and nervous to ask someone out just a day after meeting them.

He sits on the stairs by the staff exit, one hand inside his thick, heavy jacket, and the other fiddling with his phone. His hair is stuffed inside his hood, but a few long strands tickle his neck.

Someone’s calling him. “Kenma!” comes a slurred voice on the other line. It’s not Nekomata.

“You’re drunk,” he says with some weariness.

“Of course I am!”

Kenma rests his chin on his hands, bored. “Did you steal Nekomata’s phone just to prank call me?”

“I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice,” the voice says, teasing.

“Since when does a hedonist like you care about other people?”

“Ow, harsh. You’re putting up too much of a front.” That shrivels up the drunken mockery, and the voice clears up a little. There’s no treatment for alcohol like a bit of firmness. “Anything exciting? Here it’s the same. Too many birds, all the time.”

That’s not good news. Still, he doesn’t hear any concern, so it’s not too pressing.

“And how is the weather down south?”

“Warmer. Peaceful. I got a job.”

“A job?” The cackle on the other end grates against Kenma’s ears. “What do _you_ need with a job?”

“Some people need to keep busy.”

“Yes, yes. But you know, if you need help, just ask. Anyway, we got word that there’s—”

The back door swings open, clipping Kenma’s back and nearly knocking him over. Yachi leaps out, stumbles in the street, and tries to right herself.

“…I’ll call you back.” Kenma hangs up before he can hear a response.

Yachi whirls around, her blonde hair whipping around her face. Her eyes light up when she sees Kenma, and she treads over. “Sorry that you got pushed into this!”

“It’s fine.” Kozume slips his phone into his pocket. “Kamasaki put you up to it, didn’t he?”

“I, well. Yes.” She tightens the scarf around her hand. “I should’ve said no, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. You didn’t.”

“He’s not a bad person, I promise.”

“He doesn’t seem like a bad person. Just loud.”

“He is loud…”

His legs wobble when he stands— the loud sound must have shocked him more than he expected.

They walk in silence. He’s not much of a talker, and neither is she. He keeps his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ground. Yachi is a reed shaking in the wind. Just about everything seems to scare her, and she moves quietly and silently, tucking her space about herself. A sharp little breeze goes right through her, and doesn’t even rattle her. As fearful as she is, it has become so natural to her that it’s no longer uncomfortable, just a fact.

She pauses briefly, twisting as if she just recalled something.

“Are you okay?”

No! Yes! I’m just thinking about the news!”

“...The news.”

“The weather! It’s supposed to be a little nicer for the rest of the week?”

Not a very good liar, either. Because they don’t know each other? Or because she has something to hide? That blue scarf wound around her hand catches the breeze.

That scarf isn’t made of cotton, but condensed mana.

Every breath hurts, and his palms are pulsing in his pockets. His emotions rush to his mouth, numbing his tongue. There’s no way she could have not noticed. If that’s the case—

Something thin and colored brightly is shoved right in front of his face. He backs away, his shoulders drawn together and stiff, but he can’t retreat with the flow of traffic.

Yachi politely takes the item, and pushes it into his hands. Wordlessly, she paves the way through traffic, keeping close to him to make sure he doesn’t lose his way. He doesn’t like crowds, he doesn’t like when people _touch him_ — but Yachi doesn’t seem harmful. Her throat is shaking as she moves through the throng of people, but she doesn’t leave his side. “S-Some people are so forward,” she stammers. “It’s their job, but—”

He can’t manage any sounds, just some soft breathing. Paper crinkles under his fingers, and his eyes dart towards the sound. It’s a colored flyer, with a lot of carefully drawn figures. A boy in blue and a girl with pink, both with brown hair and armor. A young girl with long blue hair and a white dress. Several others that look like warriors. “What is this?”

She peers over his shoulder, far enough to not be a bother. “I guess Granblue is having an event?” She notes the blank expression on his face and clarifies: “It’s a mobile game. We get displays up in the store sometimes.”

“On your phone?”

“I think so? I’ve never played it before, though.”

Interesting. He’s more for board games than anything else, but it might be a good way to pass the time. He folds the poster up and tucks it into his pocket.

“It’s the next corner,” Yachi says. She’s been nice enough to give directions the whole time so he wouldn’t get lost.

Just as they start to round the corner, a figure darts in front of them. A boy with bright sunshine hair, dressed in clothes the color of storm clouds. “There you are!”

“Hinata! I said— I’ll be fine!” She knows him.

“But I want desserts too!”

“Where’s Kageyama?”

“I outran him.” The boy puffs up his chest. “He’ll catch up.”

All of the excitement on Hinata’s face vanishes when he squints behind Yachi. Straight at Kenma. “Who’s this?”

Yachi remains none the wiser, going straight for politeness. “Hinata, this is Kozume, he’s one of my coworkers. Kozume, this is my roommate, Hinata.”

There’s a storm brewing behind his flat expression, turning his eyes into tornadoes. It freezes his chest, and sends an aching across his lungs. The eyes of a hunter, waiting for the best moment.

_I’m going to die._

Kenma’s mind leaps from the boy to the stores around them. One sidestreet, no alleyways to duck down. Too-high buildings. Witnesses behind them. He could run back and get lost in the crowd. Shoes scrape on the pavement as he starts backing away. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Yachi looks at him wide-eyed, not understanding. “But we didn’t even—”

“This was a bad idea. Sorry.”

“But—”

Kenma jerks his head to the side. She’s not going to let him leave. He could run, and never go back to the store. One step back— his heel touches the pavement, and Hinata takes a step forward. The distance remains the same between them. He’s not going anywhere in one piece.

A fight would be a short and perfectly one-sided. 

Yachi turns back to Hinata, and catches a note of recognition. She breathes out heavily, and grounds herself. “Hinata, stop. Please.”

Hinata’s focus breaks, and he’s free again. “But he’s—”

“My coworker. That you just met.”

The silence pokes holes in Kenma’s bones.

“A friend?”

“...Sure?”

The clouds are pierced by sunlight. “A friend!” Hinata crosses the distance between them in a moment. “That’s weird, but okay. I’m Hinata!”

Kenma’s hands are still tight on his sleeves. If he doesn’t answer, this boy is going to slash him to pieces. “Hinata…” Hinata cocks his head, and Kernma pointedly looks at the concrete. “Your name?”

Hinata opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. “I’m… Hinata…. Hinata—“ His eyes fall on the papers in Yachi’s hand, at the list of authors she had to order into the store. “Shouyou! Hinata Shouyou!”

There’s no way he didn’t just make that up on the spot. Two terrible liars together. “Hinata Shouyou,” Kozume tests it out on his tongue. “...Kozume Kenma.”

“Hm.” Hinata beams. “Okay! Where are we going, Yachi?”

“Just a street ahead.”

“Okay!” Hinata chirps, and doesn’t leave.

Throughout the short walk, Hinata cycles around Kenma, constantly talking. Kenma keeps his hands out of his pockets and at his side, to show he’s not hiding anything. He can’t afford to die here, even if he has to become a prisoner in the meantime.

Yachi motions Hinata over and whispers in his ear, and he hobbles back. “Sorry about before. I thought you were… you know!”

“It’s fine,” Kenma mumbles.

So much is happening right now.

In the bakery, Yachi has to remind Hinata not to order everything on display. After a long bout of staring, Hinata settles for a loaf of melon bread, while he orders whatever Yachi ordered. The bench in front of the store is empty, so they take a seat, enjoying the warmth from the nearby heat lamp and the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread.

Or, it would be enjoyable if his heart would stop beating.

Hinata doesn’t give him a moment, and plops between Kenma and Yachi. He whips his head towards Kenma, half the bread puffing up his cheeks.“So where are you from?”

Kenma digs his eyes into the steaming apple center of his turnover, anything to avoid that needlepoint gaze. “Tokyo.”

“Really?”

“I wasn’t born here.”

“Where, then?”

“…China.”

“Zhongguo!”

His accent is terrible, but Kozume’s mouth wrinkles. “Mm.”

Hinata’s excitement is like a thousand pinpricks. “And for me, I’m from Kyoto, I think!”

A large truck rumbles down the streets, scattering puddles on the pavement. A group of gossiping schoolgirls pause in front of the bakery, and the small bell chimes softly when the door closes behind them. “Japan, then.”

“Yep!”

Kenma bites into the pastry, and the steam wafts around his cheeks. It’s not too sweet, and there’s just the right amount of bread and filling. “…Linyi.”

Hinata nods far more than necessary.

“You don’t know where that is, do you?”

“I might——— I don’t.”

Kenma sputters into his sleeve. He feels a smile tugging at his lips, but the fear forces it down.

“W-Well, it’s true!” Hinata’s face flushes red.

“I don’t know where that is, either,” Yachi gently adds, and Hinata whirls towards her, gratitude all over.

“I’ll find out where that is later!”

“You don’t have to—“ Kenma starts, but Hinata shakes his head, insistent.

“Oh, are you by yourself? Wait, no, you can’t be— I won’t ask?”

Interrogations aren’t supposed to be this comfortable. There’s no hesitation in interrogations, but Hinata’s drawn himself back. The way Hinata’s looking at him isn’t threatening anymore— it’s just sparkling curiosity.

A white smile. Genuine interest. A clear, chipper aura.

Kenma wiggles further into his seat. “I have some fr… friends back in Tokyo.”

“That’s good to hear.” Yachi adds. “But you’re here by yourself, Kozume?”

“Right… but I can handle myself.”

“Your uncle seems very nice, if he’s letting you go so far on your own.”

“He’s nice. He listens to me sometimes. That’s enough.”

“Lucky,” Hinata groans. “You have it all, and I’m stuck with a real jerk. A know it all, frowny guy.”

“It’s no good when people act like they know everything,” Kozume replies, his words coming out more bitter than he expected. He bites down on his bread to disguise the need to chew on his lip. Thinking that, much less saying it out loud. A transparent being shouldn’t be making themselves solid to anyone else.

Hinata’s eyes widen, and he lights up. “Yeah! Exactly!” He twists his body around, and his shoes nearly knock into Kenma’s.

Their knees touch, a faint spark. The cracks of shattered glass spread up his knee, twist around his spine and sends his heart into a frenzy. Kenma presses himself against the edge of the bench, but the soft press against his knee is still there.

“Oh.” Hinata moves his legs back. “Sorry.”

Kenma bobs his head. Air trickles down his throat. “I’m… not very used to…”

“I get it! It was rude, right?” Hinata scrunches up his brow with a hum. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who punches people.”

Kenma’s eyes widen before flitting away. “No punching.”

“I’m not the punchy type, either. I’m more of a whoosh! Bam! Blam!”

He’s never spoken to people who used so many sound effects. Shouting, sure. Practiced speech, definitely. This Hinata is really a mystery.

Yachi’s voice cuts in, light and gentle. “So, Kozume, why did you decide to move here? Your uncle?”

“He invited me here.”

“Then why are you working in a store?” Hinata asks.

Yachi hisses to Hinata in a panicked fluster, “You don’t just ask someone why they’re working!”

“But it’s unusual.”

“It’s not!”

“Should I get a job then?”

“No. No, that’s okay.”

Hinata looks confused, but then responds with a simple, “Alright then.”

Kozume nibbles at his turnover. “Books are nice. People work hard to make them. That they’re so easily available is… something else.” No hard work digging through archives, no months of requests lost. “I studied a lot. I’m comfortable around them.”

“I studied a lot too! Oh, I remember that I like poetry! Yeah! Poetry’s great! The sounds, the passion— amazing! In such a short amount, you can imagine so much! It’s good. Great, even!”

That’s not something he would have expected. Hinata seems like the open type, but not exactly the scholarly type. Instead of a stream, Hinata’s words are fireworks. Not the type for delicate things, and especially not poetry.

“What poets do you like?” He’s not too familiar with the art from this country, but he can manage.

Hinata freezes. “I… don’t remember.”

Kenma stares at him.

“He has a bad memory,” Yachi quickly explains.

“I’ll remember, though! Don’t take me lightly! And then I’ll tell you all the good things to read, you’ll see!”

Kenma turns his head. Unbelievable. Laughter bubbles out of his chest, and it comes out as a wheeze when he tries to stifle it. When he turns back, there’s a slight smile on his face. “You’re not what I expected.”

Hinata yelps, nearly dropping his food. “You think so? You’re a nice guy, Kenma.”

Yachi gasps, and pulls Hinata over. “You can’t just use his first name!”

“But you told me to be friendly?”

They’re whispering so loudly, it’s impossible for Kenma _not_ to hear them. Between chewing her food, she glances over, fast enough to not cause any attention. He wrote her off as being scared, but she does have some guts.

“It’s alright,” Kenma dusts off the crumbs tucked into the creases of his pants and stands. He’s stayed here long enough. Too much time around these two curiosities can’t be safe. “I have to go. Thank you for the food.”

“Of course!” Yachi says. “See you tomorrow.”

Hinata bursts up, and Kenma flinches. He’s met with eagerness and a big, hopeful smile. “I probably won’t see you tomorrow, but I’ll see you again, right?”

Kozume waves behind him. “See you around, Shouyou.”

A couple holding hands passes by him, and he melts into the crowd. Before he gets too far, he hears behind him Hinata excitedly saying, “He called me Shouyou!”

The storm of the rush hour crowd is a different storm than the one he just left. He’s known that the winds of favor are fickle, and constant. When he made his prediction, he wasn’t expecting this. Good luck or bad luck? It’s hard to tell, but he can safely say it isn’t the latter.

 

* * *

 

“Why did you run away like that? How am I supposed to be support if you’re not there?”

It’s hard to ignore Kageyama when his words are going straight into his head. All Servants in the same faction have a telepathic channel to communicate, and Hinata wishes he could turn it off just as easily.

“I handled it, okay? And I made a friend.”

“You?”

Ugh, if only there was a way to gag someone while they’re in spiritual form.

The noise Yachi makes is too bulky for her throat. She looks up and down the stone path, and presses her back against a large sign. “Okay, I think we’re alone.”

Kageyama kicks up a trail of dirt as he rematerializes. He glances around at the thick trees and worn path with a frown. “Is this it? Just trees?”

“You really have no taste, huh?”

“Yachi said it was a castle. I don’t even see a garden.”

“It could have been for status. Or decoration,” Hinata grumbles. If the Romans were anything like what the Grail told him they were two things: showy and extreme. No doubt Kageyama would even blink at something that doesn’t have giant columns and golden banners and all that.

“Not everything is still standing,” Yachi replies.

Kageyama adjusts his sweater over his wrists. It’s a size too big, but he probably isn’t used to wearing heavy clothes. Things like the weather don’t affect Servants, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand Kageyama’s default fashion sense.

The man Yachi met up with handed over a folder packed to the brim with research material, and was nice enough to give them free entry and a map. Yachi shuffles the papers around, and produces the map with a large gasp. “Up the hill, I think?”

There’s no way he’ll admit it out loud, but he’s curious too. He doesn’t remember there ever being a castle down here, or can think of a reason why there should be one. When he pulls at Kageyama’s arm— it’s rude to touch people, but does it really matter if it’s Kageyama?— Kageyama nearly falls flat on his face. “Come on, then!”

“Who do you you’re pulling?” Kageyama snaps, and grabs Yachi’s arm.

It’s easy to pull them both up the steep hill, once Kageyama stops snarling and Yachi’s breathing returns to normal.

“So the person you’re doing this for, he’s your friend?” Kageyama slants a glance down at the folder in Yachi’s hands.

“Oh! He’s not my friend, but he’s nice. He’s Kamasaki’s friend. He stops by a lot. I think he’s studying… geology? Something about the earth.”

“A diviner?” Hinata asks.

“They’re called scientists these days,” Kageyama points out.

Back then, diviners were basically scholars. Not only did they have to be practiced at their art, but also knowledgeable enough to hold up discussions of philosophy in the court. “So it sounds like your not-friend is pretty smart.”

“I… I guess so.”

Hinata nearly drops his map when they reach the peak. It’s all flatland, with some trees and benches scattered throughout the area. The area is carefully divided off by stones and wooden pathways, likely marking where structures used to stand. The woods are thick, but the trees on the grounds are bare. The metropolis glitters in the distance, tall glass buildings trying to absorb the sky. “Where’s the castle?” His voice echoes throughout the area, and all the people in the area turn to look at him.

“A lot’s happened in the last four hundred years. Not many monuments survived the bombings,” Yachi explains.

Kageyama looks at the map, and then at the flat ruins before him. “And this is where the castle used to be?”

“Right. Sendai’s famous warlord used to live here.”

“Warlord?” Hinata asks.

Yachi hurries them over to a large statue of a man in full armor on a horse. A crescent moon is on his helmet, and his stone gaze overlooks the buildings in the distance. “This is him. He apparently founded the whole city.”

Clearly powerful, befitting a leader. Hinata stares up at him, jaw set. If only he could speak to the statue, ask him about his life, his policies, his rule over this city.

“Do you recognize him?” Yachi asks.

“No… I don’t think so. And the place I lived in was a lot nicer than this, I think? A lot nicer than those pictures, at least. Warlords? I mean, the Grail told me what happened— sort of— but it doesn’t feel right.”

“There weren’t any samurai when you were alive?”

“There were, but they sure didn’t rule!”

Yachi’s eyes widen, and her tongue flops in her mouth. “Hinata… before samurai rule was almost a thousand years ago!”

“Really? I guess I’m pretty old then. Kageyama’s even older, though.”

“It’s not a contest.”

“It’s not, you’re just an old man.”

Kageyama’s hand latches onto his face and squeezes, hard. “Warriors ruling a country just isn’t right.” He frowns at the statue, as if he expects it to come to life and challenge him. “The land isn’t impressive.” Hinata snorts out of his nose, and Kageyama whips his head back around. “If you saw the Domus Aurea, then even you’d understand.”

“You’re comparing a bunch of stones to thi—”

Kageyama lets go and kicks the back of Hinata’s knees, and sends him crashing face-first against the statue.

“You jerk, attacking a guy with bad legs!”

“You two— please—“ Yachi frantically says.

That breaks them apart. They snarl at each other one last time before desisting - for now.

Turning away, Hinata huffs, crossing his arms. What did he do to get stuck with Kageyama, anyway? Even if it’s just stone, this is his land, and he won’t tolerate any insults.

_His land?_

Even if the winter wind is making him tear up, the view of the city from the top of the castle is impressive. Nothing’s left of the castle, just some roped off stones, but what could have been fills him with awe.

Hinata checks the statue’s face once again. It’s not him, and the man still doesn’t feel familiar. With a shake of his head, he dismisses the thought. It’s probably nothing.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure it’s this way?”

Yachi's not sure how they ended up in the woods though. If only the castle was still standing, then she could see it in the distance, but there’s just trees, trees, trees. The hot tea she bought at the food stall by the castle grounds has gone cold. They passed a sign about Tohoku University five minutes ago. If they go in a direction, they’d find something eventually, but who knows how long that eventually would be? What if she goes hungry? What if she has to forage for food, or hunt? She doesn’t know how to hunt!

“It’s this way, I know it.” Kageyama presses on.

“You don’t know where you’re going, just admit it!”

Kageyama glares back at Hinata, who started floating as soon as he realized there were no observers around. “Neither do you!”

“Yeah, but I never said that I did!”

This is a historical site, and these are old woods. Even if there’s no map nearby, there has to be some sort of path. Even if it won’t lead them back to the castle, it should at least take them away from the castle grounds.

“I found something!” Hinata glides towards a patch of dirt. The only plants nearby it are some small weeds, and the rest is all flat ground. A route well-walked. There are some stones nestled into the snaking path, but they’re worn and lopsided, remnants from a long time ago.

“Don’t worry!” Hinata’s taken to hovering in front of Yachi. “If we keep walking, we’re sure to find something!”

Logically, she knows he’s absolutely right, but doubt is chewing up her nerves, sending a throbbing down to the soles of her shoes. He’s just trying to cheer her up, so she gives him a wrinkled smile.

Still, she refuses to take her eyes off the path, even when Hinata and Kageyama bicker over her. If she gets distracted, then she might lose sight of it, and get them even more lost. Her nose hits Hinata’s back, and she yelps in surprise.

Hinata’s eyes are glassy, solely focused on the path ahead, at the two people standing at the end.

A long spear is on the first man’s back, and is nearly as tall as he is. He doesn’t look threatening, from his soft gray hair to his wide eyes, but the edge of the spear glints in the sunlight. His companion is taller, and wrapped completely in thick armor. The helm on their head looks so heavy, Yachi wonders how they can see out of it. It’s hard to tell whether the person beneath the armor is a man or a woman. They could easily be part of the forest; statues leftover from a long-lost time. All Yachi can think of are guardian deities, ready to strike down anything that dares cross into their territory.

“Lancer and Saber, right?” Kageyama steps forward. “Identify yourselves.”

The soft-faced Lancer scoffs. “Seriously? Walking in on our territory and demanding answers?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Unbelievable.”

It’s the knight that speaks next. “You’re a king, aren’t you?”

Kageyama retreats for half a moment. “If you recognize that, then answer.”

“The worst kind, apparently.”

“Hey, Kindaichi.” The lancer’s voice has a hint of warning, but then he turns to them, prideful and haughty. “So what are you doing out here? Are you picking a fight with Aoba Jousai?"

Hinata looks at the map. "But we're east of the castle?"

"Someone's got a mouth on them. If your Master sent you that’s one thing, but—“ A breath catches in his mouth when his eyes find Yachi.

She’s half-hidden behind Kageyama. Maybe he’s shrouded her enough that she can fold herself away behind the two boys, and fully erase herself from something she has no place in.

In one swift move, the lancer unhooks the spear from his back.

“Yahaba, wait.”

“No time for waiting.”

“But Oikawa said—”

“If their Master’s right there, we’d be idiots to ignore her. The war’s just begun. He can’t complain if we bring her Command Seals back with us.”

An uncomfortable rattle comes from Kindaichi’s helm. A knight’s sword, broad and wide, is loose by his side. By gripping it with both hands, he turns a relic into a weapon. “I guess that makes sense.”

The air whistles around them, and with a surge of energy, both Kageyama and Hinata emerge dressed in their Servant clothing. Kageyama holds out his hands, and that thorned blade appears in a flurry of dried black petals.

Before Yachi can finish blinking, Kindaichi cracks the stone tile underfoot and charges. His sword crashes against Kageyama’s, and the clang jolts her ears.

Her collar is tight against her throat, and she's yanked back, just as a spear drives into where she was just standing. Everything happened so fast—it feels as if her consciousness had been pulled away from her.

Hinata lets go of Yachi’s collar, fuming, “We just met you! What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“This is a _war_.” Yahaba pulls his spear from the ground. “Last I checked, we’re supposed to kill each other, not stand around shaking hands.”

“That’s… that’s true!”

“Do I really have an idiot as my opponent?”

“Yachi,” Hinata whispers, “Go hide somewhere. Not too far, but not where they can see you.”

Three people have tried to kill her in three days. Falling over sounds good right about now. “O-Okay. I’ll stay close. Far.”

Hinata knocks back the oncoming stab with a burst of air.

She takes off running, as Yahaba yells, “Kindaichi!”

Metal clacks on the path behind her. He’ll be here in a second.

A piercing screech of stone on metal. Kageyama and Kindaichi have crossed blades again, and the heavy sword is bearing down on Kageyama. _“Go!”_ he shouts over his shoulder.

Every breath barely fills her mouth. Her shoes twist as the flat ground turns into a hill, and she runs on the sides of her heels. She darts in between the trees, banging into old bark and scattering flecks of wood all over her jacket. Wait— Hinata said not to go too far, didn’t he? Did that mean that something bad would happen if she goes too far away? Her frantic heart wants to send her out of the castle grounds, all the way home, to where she can lock her door and hope that something doesn’t come flying in through the roof.

There’s a small bush with dead leaves still clinging to its branches nearby, and she ducks behind it. Sandwiched between a bush and a tree, they probably can’t see her if they look up the hill. The incline is enough to give her a vantage point, and she peeks out from between the thin branches.

Yachi’s throat is thick with awe. That’s not a fight, that’s two storms clashing against each other. If she blinks, she’s afraid she’ll miss everything.

Those tattoos on her hand are lighting up, burning like they’re traced with lava.

 

* * *

 

Hinata’s heart is fluttering. The skies are humming, and he feels every pulse of wind through the leaves, across the soil, like they're a part of his own nerves. Something whispers for him to move one way, and that he can call the wind if he talks to it, but he can’t trace where it’s coming from.

Yahaba's spear is his third arm, catching the edge of Hinata’s clothes. He couldn’t have asked for a better opponent for his first fight!

For all of Kageyama's bitterness, he's not untalented. Hinata's never heard of Nero wielding a sword, but Kageyama handles his like a trained warrior would. Knights are supposed to be practiced, but Kindaichi's strikes are brutal enough to cleave a man in half. A deflected swing strips the bark off a nearby tree. “Hey, _King_. You were a tyrant, weren’t you?”

Kageyama flinches, and in that split second, Kindaichi slams the handle of his sword into his stomach. Kageyama crumples to the ground with a choked-out gasp.

“I knew it.” Kindaichi doesn’t seem proud of this discovery. “You all act the same— like gods looking down on mortals.”

“Some knight you are, criticizing an emperor.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s how things turned out.”

A sharp intake of breath sounds more like a hiss when it echoes through Kindaichi’s helm, and the air crackles. Kageyama flinches as a surge of mana crashes against him, sucks the air out of his lungs. The next blow sounds like a sledgehammer, and sends Kageyama stumbling back. Sparks scatter across Kindaichi’s sword, and every swing draws a deadly blue arc.

Before, they were evenly matched, but now Kageyama blocks every blow with growing desperation. The elegance of knights that exist in legends is nowhere to be found, replaced with raw, simmering resentment. Even Hinata notices something’s off— Kageyama didn’t recognize Kindaichi, and knights didn’t exist in Rome. If Kageyama misjudges a parry, his arm will come clean off.

“Hey, I thought we weren’t going to be serious,” Yahaba says, although he doesn’t sound particularly bothered. He stomps on the ground, and the earth trembles. Water tears free of the soil in droplets that build into a steady stream and coil around the speartip with a fury of its own.

The first strike is swift and heavy— the protective wall of wind Hinata throws up creaks under pressure. Spear and wind clash over and over again, enough to make Hinata’s arms go numb. The speartip draws elegant curves in the air before piercing the wall and banging against Hinata’s head. His brain is rolling around; it feels like he was just hit with an iron club. Some of the water that splashed on Hinata slithers back towards Yahaba but the rest collects in puddles wherever they fell. When Hinata dips his toe into a puddle by his feet, the water doesn’t dart up to skewer him or explode. “Are you a magician?”

“A druid? No way.” The pole slams into Hinata’s side, smashes him into the tile face-first. His teeth rattle in his mouth, and the bottom of his chin is raw. He can hear the smirk in Yahaba’s voice. “And what are _you_ , flying around like that? A sidhe?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” His left eyelid is swollen— he can barely open it. A bubble of blood pops in his nose. He hooks his fingers around a crack in the tile and pushes the wind against the ground, jetting back into the air and knocking Yahaba back a few paces. He aims a cut of wind at Yahaba’s head, but the lancer merely sidesteps. Stay still! If only he had a proper mount, like a horse or something, that could kick Yahaba in the face!

A yelp. Kindaichi has landed a punch on Kageyama’s side, and sent him skittering. The physical strength of the Saber class is nothing to laugh at, and even worse, Kageyama isn’t wearing any practical armor. Blade in hand, Kageyama tries to get up, but he winces when he puts weight on his side.

Kindaichi’s blade is raised high.

Hinata is the wind, and Kageyama gets one yelp out before Hinata pulls him from beneath Kindaichi’s blow. The vibrations across Hinata’s contract sends him up the hill, and he scoops Yachi up in the crook his arm before zipping back to the safety of the castle walls.

A strangled scream slips out of Yachi’s throat when she sees where she is. “Where— flying— we’re flying—”

“Put me down!” Kageyama yells, jamming his elbow into Hinata’s side. “Put me down!”

Hinata wastes no time in dropping them both.

Yachi lets out a yelp when she hits the ground, and Hinata frantically helps her up. “Sorry! I only meant to drop Kageyama!”

Kageyama glares up where he’s been unceremoniously dumped. “Hinata, you absolute moron,” he snarls between gritted teeth.

The rhythm of Yachi’s breath is slow. She tests the crevices in the wall under her fingers, and recoils as if they burned her. “I-Is— Are we— back at Sendai Castle?”

“They can’t get us up here!” Hinata puffs up with pride. They landed in a relatively sparse area, but there are a few people coming by. He doesn’t like it, but Hinata stands on the ground before anyone notices.

Kageyama squints in the direction they came from. “Which means they can get us as soon as we come down the hill.” He’s scowling as he stands, a hand cradling his ribs. When Kindaichi had rammed into Kageyama’s side, the distinctive crack had been gruesome. Even if Servants don’t have physical bodies, they can still feel pain. It probably hurts him just to stand.

“With limited mana, and no Noble Phantasms…” He somehow manages to frown even more. “I’m not letting those two make a fool of me. I can handle that knight on my own. Don’t interfere.”

“Stupid Kageyama, maybe I should’ve let you get your head chopped off!”

“That would never happen.”

“Do you even see what’s going on, or do you see the world through some stupid Roman filter? Some emperor you are!”

Kageyama straightens, fury overpowering the pain in his side. Even with Hinata floating in the air, he’s still tall enough to glare him down. A prickle of fear freezes Hinata in place.

“You two— you two— please!” Yachi works up enough strength to look at the two of them and definitely not back where they came from. “Maybe if you two work together, it could work out?”

It’s a simple suggestion. Hinata’s really not sure if he can work together with Kageyama, besides being deterrents from afar, but if his Master wills it…

“Okay. Kageyama, let’s… work together,” he manages. “I guess. If I have to.”

Kageyama looks like someone poured mud all over him.

“You don’t have to look so upset!”

“I _am_ upset! To think I have to team up with a useless Servant like you! Did you even land one hit on that Lancer? I’d have better luck partnering up with a rock!”

“This is a team war! If you didn’t want to be here so badly, then you shouldn’t have answered my summons!”

Kageyama’s face tenses up. He balls his hands into fists, and Hinata leaps back instinctively, expecting a punch. Nothing ever comes. He just says, quietly, “Yeah, I did.” Whatever reason he has, it must not have been based off of anything good. “--But that doesn’t mean that I want to work with you. I’ll be happy to work with the others, but— a familiar could do more damage than you. The way you are now, you’re worthless.”

“I know _,_ okay! I already know that!”

All the other Heroic Spirits are stars in the sky, and he’s just a weak breeze blowing below. The faction leader gets a steady stream of mana from their Master, so he _should_ be getting stronger. On top of that, they’re in Japan, his country of origin. The Territory Boost, additional power gained from his fame in his home country, should make him even more powerful than normal.

But Yahaba sidestepped every slice of air. Kageyama’s a Roman Spirit, and the name of Nero isn’t that well known here, but he still managed to stay equal with Kindaichi.

“I want to fight, not get taken out in my first battle!” Hinata exclaims. “We have to find a way to get out of here, and whatever we were doing before isn’t working! I’ll do whatever it takes, so just— work with me here!”

Kageyama stares at him, dark eyes illuminated in the setting sun. They’re toneless, but something cloudy is swirling beneath the thin fog of doubt. He sighs, and says, more thin than Hinata expects to hear, “Then let’s win.”

“Really? Yes! We’re going to beat them?”

It takes him a moment to recover from Hinata’s burst of enthusiasm, but Kageyama composes himself with a cough. “No. The best thing for now is to get them to stop chasing Yachi. It would be nice if we could, but a retreat’s a better option. If we fight them until they’re weaker, we can escape easily.”

“Then let’s leave Yachi up here. She’ll definitely be safe this far away!”

“No,” Kageyama’s voice is unshakeable. “For all we know, there’s an enemy Assassin or Archer hiding around. The moment we leave her out in the open, they could attack.”

Yachi tenses at the thought.

“If she hides in the forest, it’ll take some time to find her. Far enough away should be good. We won’t be using our Noble Phantasms, so we’ll have to overwhelm those two with strategy… you’re a Rider, right? Where’s your mount?”

Hinata gestures around. “Right here.”

“I said show your mount, moron! Not for you to pretend like something’s there when it isn’t!”

“But it is there!” Hinata protests. “It’s the wind!”

Kageyama loses his breath for a moment. He keeps his eyes on Hinata, searching for any traces of a lie. “Don’t joke around.”

“I’m not.” He doesn’t float around because it’s fun. The wind is his mount; the thing that will never betray him, as comforting and deadly as it can be.

It takes Kageyama a moment before he speaks again. “…And your skills?”

All Hinata can do is wrack his brain for names long plunged into darkness. “I don’t remember much, but there’s my _Disaster Omen_.”

“D-Disaster?”

“It’s just a name, Yachi!”

A Servant’s skills reflect their legends, translated into special magical abilities. But if he has such an ominous sounding skill, then maybe he really was a bad guy when he was alive! If he was a bad guy, then no wonder nobody wanted to summon him! He hangs his head. It would be really, really nice to remember who he was, so he could have some way to defend himself!

“So what does that skill do?” Kageyama interrupts his worsening thoughts. “Predict the future?”

“I wish. It makes me faster, I guess?”

Kageyama stares, eyes wide. “So that just before— that wasn’t the fastest you could go?”

“No, not when I’m holding Yachi! Do you want me to snap her spine? What about you, Bakageyama?”

“Shut up. Nothing I have will help someone else. Well, maybe— there’s my divine _Imperial Privilege_.”

Wait, if stuck-up, eternally bitter Kageyama can have cool sounding skills and still have been summoned before, then maybe his earlier thinking was wrong! Hinata nods to himself. That’s right, maybe he doesn’t have it all bad! “Wait, Imperial what now?”

“Imperial Privilege. Since I ruled over the great Roman Empire, I was granted it in this life. It lets me use whatever Class Skill I want— what’s with the face?”

“How come you get an awesome skill like that and I don’t!”

“Nobody asked you to lose your memory, dumbass!”

“That sounds really impressive,” Yachi quietly marvels. “So you can do magic too?”

Kageyama’s mouth wrinkles. “I have… some skill in magecraft. The witch that taught me is on another level, but I think I can pull off some minor spells. Although my talent is in support instead of offense.”

An idea pops into Hinata’s head. “So use that on me!”

“ _What_?”  

“If you can use all your fancy emperor powers, then you have Caster skills too, right? Then use those to power me up!”

“Caster…” Kageyama’s face is snow white. He wobbles, legs weak. “I could do that,” he finally says.

“So you can’t.”

“Of course I can!” Kagayama snaps. He presses his lips together and looks Hinata up and down. “Alright, listen up. If you can’t hit them, then avoid their attacks. Just when I use my skill, get close, and do what you do.”

“I don’t think that’s really much of an explanation—“ Yachi starts, but Hinata blurts out a strong, “Okay!”

“Then there we have it. It’s not a complicated plan, but it should work. Hopefully.”

Yachi takes a deep breath. Her fingers are shaking, and they bury deep into her skirt. She casts a glance back towards the forest, and swallows hard. "All I have to do is hide?"

"Behind a tree or something large."

"Okay," her voice is whispered and hesitant, "I think I can manage that, maybe? I mean, it's not like I really have a choice, right?" She shakes her head, and sucks in another breath. "Do you think you can let me down gently this time?"

"I only meant to drop Kageyama, anyway!" The glare Kageyama sends him could boil iron, and Hinata whistles like he hadn’t seen it.

Hinata picks Yachi up gently and considers throwing Kageyama far away. He pushes the impulse down, as nice as the mental image is, and hooks Kageyama under his arm.

“Quit carrying me like a sack of grain,” Kageyama protests, before Hinata zips off.

They reach the woods in a second, and Hinata hurries to set them both down. Yachi’s legs are wobbly when she stands. “Thank you. And good luck!” she says before she dashes into the forest. Hinata follows the vibrations of their contract further up the hill. She’s far enough away, she’ll be safe.

Wood splinters, and a great pine groans as it topples to its death. The ground shakes at it lands and from the swirl of leaves and dust come Kindaichi and Yahaba. “You came down,” Kindaichi says, a little surprised.

“You won’t let us go otherwise!” Hinata shoots back. “We’ll defeat you this time!”

“Even with a tyrant?”

There’s no doubting the displeasure that wells up inside Hinata. “Even then,” he growls, and Kindaichi makes a sound that almost resembles a laugh.

“Hey, come on. We’re fighting to kill their Master. Their Ma-s-ter.” Yahaba grumbles. “Don’t forget that.”

“That’s right,” Kageyama says, eyes cold. “You shouldn’t.” He hardens his stance, as a rush of mana surges through his body and fills him with a dark radiance. His presence is commanding, humming in the air around him. A current flows along the black steel of his sword with the distinct aura of magecraft.

Kindaichi flinches, and raises his sword— a second too late, as Hinata darts into Kageyama's line of sight.

The curved blade and Servant line up, and something hits Hinata like a sharp arrow. A strange sensation rushes through him, like his organs are being rearranged. There's no pain, but foreign magic running through him and assembling and reassembling his core makes Hinata wince. Energy wells up and surges like a bonfire. He feels… _powerful_. The wind, his close friend and companion, is whipping around his body. Every current, notch, and twist of the air through the trees, in and out of lungs— he can hear it all, like it's calling to him.

Yahaba is charging at him, his spear coated in that mysterious water. Too close, he has to knock him back somehow. Hinata molds the wind under his palms and pushes it forward.

It's supposed to form a bubble to catch Yahaba’s blow— not slam a wall of air straight into him. A gust howls through the clearing, battering the branches and knocking dead leaves off. Kindaichi grunts, skidding back, and Yahaba digs his spear into the ground at the last second to keep himself from blowing away. Hinata stares at his hands in awe. He always knew that he had a fair amount of power, but to finally land a proper hit on an opponent! Kageyama blinks through the flurry of dead leaves. A hint of a smile creeps onto his lips.

The dark luster around Kageyama has faded; Imperial Privilege has reached its limit, but the fire is still coiling around Hinata's body. The air churns, and Hinata sends a great blast of wind hurtling forward. Blue sparks erupt from Kindaichi’s sword as he swings it back. A brutal slash rips the wind apart. Strips of bark are torn free, and the trees unlucky to be close to the deflected wind are uprooted with a great groan.

With scattered wood and shredded leaves fluttering around him is Kindaichi, completely unharmed.

A bolt of purple light catches Kindaichi in the chest and knocks him back. Yahaba snaps into a guarded position, drawing a wave of water up in front him. The barrage of light tears through the water and explodes, sending up a cloud of scorched dirt. A figure touches down in front of Hinata, dark fabric billowing in the wind. There’s a glint of glasses underneath the dark hood of the last person they expected.

"Tsukishima?" Kageyama stares. "I didn't think you—“

"Are the only person in the team that can fly? Yes, that."

Hinata wants to be thankful, but the judgment Tsukishima is silently throwing his way is thinning his gratitude, fast. “We were handling it!”

“I’m sure.” Tsukishima frowns at the settling cloud and the two silhouettes inside it. "Figures you would run into enemies right away." He steps back into the air, hovering slightly above the ground. "Try not to humiliate us too badly, alright?"

“A Caster,” Kindaichi says.

“A witch,” Yahaba adds.

A constellation draws itself in the sky, and erupts in a hail of light. The two move, but not fast enough, and are battered by the onslaught.

“Three against two. Easy,” Tsukishima’s voice has a trace of bitterness beneath it. “So are you two going to keep staring, or do you expect a Caster to start punching people?” The air thickens around him as droplets of water are pulled free. With a flick of his wrist, he condenses the drops into a column and sends it crashing down on top of them both.

Kindaichi sputters, but Yahaba whirls his spear around, bending the water to his will. With a shout, he sends the wave rushing back.

Embers flicker above Tsukishima’s fingers. An inferno erupts from the ground and collides with the water in an explosion of steam. Yahaba yelps when it touches his skin, but he grits his teeth and leaps in after Tsukishima.

A different shroud of black meets him instead. Hinata curls the steam around him and throws it down. Yahaba cries out, the exposed skin on his arm spotted bright red. Even as he stumbles, he sends his spear straight into Hinata's midsection.

The ground— the soil is unnatural and not where he belongs, sending a wave of nausea into his throat. He has to get away, get back into the air again, and with a yelp, Hinata leaps into the air. His stomach _hurts_. Yahaba is back at his side again. Just before the strike, he draws the wind across him, sending water fizzling into the cloud. The steam wraps around the spear and with a twist of his hands, Hinata wrenches it free.

There's a flicker of surprise in Yahaba’s eyes but as Hinata commands the wind forward again, a fist smashes into his bruised stomach. He sputters and hesitates briefly, just enough to falter before Yahaba grabs his spear and crashes the pole into Hinata’s skull.

If he falls here, nobody can protect Yachi. It hurts, but it's not so bad. He's survived worse.

...Has he? How can he say that, if he doesn't remember how he died? He hates lying to himself, but he hates the idea of disappearing so pathetically even more.

Deeper, deeper. Down into the part of his that whispers curses into his soul.

A bulb of energy swells up inside him, and becomes a whirlwind. Twisting, kicking up dirt and calling the clouds down. The flame inside him is dying out, and the steam is dissipating. He needs more— just a little—

"One more!" he yells.

Kageyama snaps to attention. He inhales sharply, and that dark glimmer surrounds him like a commanding halo. Kageyama digs his heel into the dirt, his long coat billowing behind him as he twists his body out of the way of an incoming slash from Kindaichi.

"Take _this_!"

A molten flame burns in Hinata's core.

Kindaichi’s sword catches the afternoon light when he swings it over his head. A blade _—_ not large and heavy Kindaichi's, or long and fancy like Kageyama's. It's about as long as his arm, traditional, with an ornamental edge on its sheath. When he wracks his mind for its name, he returns with an empty blankness.

The wind writhes as he holds it tight. Kindaichi has that heavy armor, so if he can cut it, then they might have an easier time taking him down. Hinata lets the wind roar, and it rips through the air, colliding with Kindaichi like the slash of a sword.

Kindaichi is thrown backward. His heavy armor is scuffed from the blow, but it doesn't crack. Hinata's throat goes dry.

All his unease scatters when he sees Kageyama poised to strike a fatal blow. With a yell, Kageyama swings his sword down towards Kindaichi’s neck.

The blade clatters against a large, ornate mirror. An oppressive presence squeezes Hinata's lungs, and a shudder runs through his body. Kageyama leaps back and holds his sword on guard, just as a person lands between him and Kindaichi.

"Are you two having trouble? That's not good." The newcomer stands at his full height, illuminated by the glow of the sun.

Kageyama blanches, like he’s just been slapped.

The newcomer's eyes are jewels that glitter when they find Kageyama. “Yahoo, Nero-chan! It’s been so long! Who would’ve ever guessed we’d be summoned again like this?” He grabs Kageyama by the shoulders and presses him close, far too casual, and much rougher than necessary. “So? Still not getting along with people?”

Hinata bristles. Did he just blurt out Kageyama's true name?

Nothing about this guy makes sense. He's quite handsome, from his soft hair to his pale skin— enough that it’s terrifying. His turquoise clothes look like those of a Shinto priest at first glance, but it's far too fancy. The traditional hunting cloak is shorter, and held in place by a jet-black obi stitched with gold flames. There’s no mistake; he's just as human as Hinata.

Just looking at that mirror makes Hinata shiver. The border is a symmetrical mix of curves and sharp edges, and inlaid with jewels. Even though it’s large and heavy, it manages to float effortlessly. It clashed with Kageyama’s sword, but there isn’t even a scratch on its surface. The way it pulses with power— it’s not something of this world, or the world beyond. Whoever this Servant is, the density of his aura transcends both Kindaichi’s and Yahaba's.

Hinata thinks of a layered robes in the colors of scented buds, the traditional greens dyed defiantly blue.

When Kageyama breaks free, there are nail-shaped indents on his sleeve. “You— you can talk?” he sputters.

“What kind of first question is that? See, this is why everyone thinks you’re hopelessly dull. Of course I can! I was summoned as a Caster, after all! As it should be.”

With a leap, Kageyama puts distance between himself and the newcomer, skidding in front of Hinata. Hinata peeks out, afraid that if he shows his face, he’ll be incinerated on the spot. “Hey Kageyama, do you know him?"

Kageyama's frown is folded into his brow. "Yeah. From before."

"Seriously? There's no way he's Roman."

"No, you moron, from in the last Grail War!"

From a previous war! It must be nice to know someone from a previous summoning, even an enemy!

“Don't bother trying to attack him. Your weak attacks won't work.”

Tsukishima drifts close by, his eyes firmly fixed on the newcomer. "You seem certain."

"My Imperial Privilege lets me use other Class skills, but I still need to have some knowledge beforehand,” Kageyama explains. “He's the witch that showed me the basics of magecraft. And he’s extremely powerful, with a terrible personality. Maybe all you witches are like that.”

A dark shadow crosses Tsukishima's face, and his mouth twists into a snarl. It’s gone a second later, and he composes himself, adjusting his glasses. "I'll deal with you later.”

Hinata shudders at the promise, but returns to studying the new Heroic Spirit, who's currently dusting off Kindaichi’s helmet. He seems cheerful enough, but Hinata can feel the fangs in his smile. If Nero's an emperor, this guy has to be a king. Then the person who's more knowledgeable and powerful than a king has to be a grand king!

Kageyama slides another cautious step back. "Berserker— Caster?"

“Absolutely not. Today, the dependable guji Oikawa-san graces you with his presence!“

Kageyama fumbles, like the response dazed him. "Oikawa… san. You’re the leader of these two, and your faction, right? You have to be.”

“Of course I am.”

“Then tell your men to withdraw.”

“Nero-chan, that’s no good. You and I are on different sides this time. So you should have no problem if I rip your tongue out, right?” Even if his tone is friendly, there’s no doubt that he’s completely serious.

As the mirror orbits Oikawa, it glows with an unearthly shine.

“Yahaba, Kindaichi, stay back. You two had your fun time.”

Kindaichi tenses up. “We’re sorry—”

“Don’t worry, I’m not upset. You two are warriors; you fight, that’s what you do.” Oikawa’s eyes shine with determination. It’s not an order to withdraw.

Hinata leaps forward and pulls Kageyama behind him. “We’re not afraid of you, Grand King!” He whips his head around and tries his best to glare at Kindaichi and Yahaba. “Or you two!”

The mirror slows to a halt.

“Grand King?” Tsukishima parrots with disbelief.

“He’s Kageyama’s superior, right? So he has to be even better than an emperor! But it doesn’t matter who he is, we’ll beat him anyway!”

Oikawa looks down, eyes unreflective, with a plastic smile. A moment later, he is cheery and pleasant. “You have such excitable friends.”

A glimmer between Oikawa’s fingers materializes into a slip of paper- an ofuda. He flicks his fingers, and it shoots forward. Kageyama guards himself with the flat of his blade moments before the tag explodes in a burst of fire. He stumbles back, blinking away a flurry of embers stinging his eyes.

The mirror slams into Tsukishima’s side, and Hinata hears a crack as the breath is knocked out of him.

A flash of pain. The mirror is digging into his midsection. Bitterness hits Hinata’s throat as he’s flung backwards.

Oikawa’s already close, his hand drawn. Kageyama swings his sword forward.

The clash rings in everyone’s ears. Only a few seconds have passed.

Kageyama is straining to keep his sword in place, as claw-tips brush his eyelashes. The back of his heels dig tracks into the soil. The mirror is orbiting the two of them in a wide circle, ready to catch any attack sent their way. Oikawa and Kageyama are standing so close, that even if an attack managed to get through, they’d both get hit. It’s too risky.

“This isn’t necessary,” Kageyama hisses through gritted teeth.

“Necessary? Only one team is going to survive in the end,” Oikawa sneers into his face. “Don’t you want to be a good Servant and protect people this time?”

Kageyama flinches, and his eyes dart towards where Yachi is hidden. His expression is sour, but he takes a deep breath, and pushes out the flicker of hurt. “You’re as twisted as ever.”

“See, you can say nice things if you try.”

Sword and claws grind against each other in a terrible symphony. Kageyama’s grip tightens on his sword. “If we’re going to be enemies, then I won’t hold back. This time, I’ll surpass you.”

A dark glimmer shines in Oikawa’s eyes. “You could _try_.”

The mirror’s orbit turns deadly, and hurtles towards Kageyama’s back. Right before Hinata can yell a warning, Kageyama swings his blade in an arc, putting some distance between them and parrying the mirror in a single, swift move. Oikawa raises a hand like he’s trying to catch the sword coming his way, but at the last second, the mirror rushes between them.

Parry to parry, blow to blow, two types of fatal precision waiting for an opening. The black blade dips down with enough force to cleave through both of Oikawa’s legs, but with unbelievable agility, Oikawa leaps up onto the edge of the blade. Kageyama stumbles forward, caught off-balance by the sudden shift in weight, and Oikawa blows past him. Past Tsukishima and Hinata, and up the hill, towards—

Hinata’s blood surges. In a heartbeat, he’s the wind, weaving through the trees. Something thin and white shoots his way, and he throws up his defensive winds a moment too late before the tag explodes. He’s blown away, and smashes through the trunk of a large tree. His deafening heartbeat rings through his ears, and he screams, “Yachi!”

Inbetween the thin branches, Yachi pulls her head up, seconds before the jeweled mirror comes crashing down in front of her like a guillotine. She freezes, trapped in her reflection.

Hinata charges forward, catching Oikawa around the waist and knocking him back. A volley of light curves through the trees and blasts between them. As the light blinds Hinata, the mirror smashes into his side as Oikawa launches a tag towards Tsukishima.

Tsukishima raises his hands reflexively, and the tag halts in midair, centimeters away from contact. A bubble of air wraps around it, slowly closing in until it pops out of sight. He meets the next three tags with another spray of light, but instead of fire, each tag erupts into a whirlwind. The assaulting winds tear into his cloak and send him crashing into the ground.

A scream. Oikawa has Yachi by her collar, and is hoisting her up in the air.

“Don’t move!” Tsukishima yells.

He freezes. Coming up the hill, Kageyama screeches to a halt.

Everything in Hinata’s brain, his powers and all, is all wrapped up in instinct. Is he faster than Oikawa’s claws? There’s no way he can calculate that, and there’s no way he can gamble his Master’s life.

Oikawa’s cool smile speaks of knowing victory. “Nero-chan, I knew I could beat you, but this is truly disappointing.”

Kageyama grinds his teeth, his hands shaking by his side. Yahaba and Kindaichi stroll up the hill to watch, and Hinata envies how carefree they are.  

Oikawa is all charm, but when he finally takes a good look at Yachi, his pleasant expression melts away into something thorny. His eyes fall to the Command Seals peeking out between the wound scarf around her hand, and back to her. She stares back, unable to look anywhere else.

“Magus.” His eyes are flat, not a flicker of light to be found. “Why is your mana so low?”

Yachi’s lips tremble, her hand resting feebly on Oikawa’s wrist. She can’t get any words out of her throat, it’s locked up tight.

A pole impales the ground behind Hinata. It curves over the trees and far beyond what he can see, before it contracts and a figure grasping the end hurtles forward. The earth shakes when he lands. The shadow cast by his straw hat doesn't dull the flash in his steely gaze. The long vest over a loose-fitting white robe, all secured around his waist with a sash doesn’t seem like good clothes for a battlefield, but he’s the very image of strength. The long pole in his hand twists, warps into a monk’s ringed staff. “What are you doing, running off like that?”

Oikawa gives him a long look, but then his smile returns. “You’re late, Iwa-chan!”

“You run away without saying anything, and _I’m_ late? Anyway,” he glances down at where Hinata and Tsukishima are laying on the ground, “looks like you already took care of it.”

“I’m more than capable!”

“Right.” His frustration morphs into surprise when he notices Kageyama, who stares back with equal wonder. “Nero?”

“Caster! You’re here, too?” Kageyama catches himself. “No, of course you are.”

“Iwaizumi’s fine.” Iwaizumi looks from ally to enemy, and takes a deep breath. “Look- I don’t like that we had to meet again like this, but we’re not on the same side anymore.”

Words threaten to spill out of his mouth, but Kageyama swallows them. “No, I— I understand.”

Iwaizumi nods an apology, and looks at Oikawa. “It’s your call,” he says, his voice edging just on the side of caution.

Yachi’s as stiff as a beam of wood.

Oikawa lets out a contemplative sound before he drops her to the ground.

Hinata darts between his Master and Oikawa just in time. She shivers against his back as he tries his best to shield her completely. His glare is defiant, but he has to struggle not to gulp. If he fights, they’re all going to die; him, Kageyama, Tsukishima, Yachi- _everyone_. He’s no match for four Servants- he’s no match for this one alone.

Oikawa’s voice snaps the tension in the air. "Alright, I'm going home!"

Yahaba gapes at his leader. Kindaichi looks like he’s about to drop his sword, and Iwaizumi just seems mildly annoyed.

“Wh— What?” Yahaba stammers. “She’s right _there_!”

“You want to throw rocks in a dry well? It’s not like she can raise her mana levels on her own.” Oikawa sighs, as if this whole thing is just a huge inconvenience. “I really wanted the opening battle to be a challenge. What a _pain._ ”

“You’re sure?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Absolutely, 100%. I mean, Nero-chan’s always disappointing, but this is...” He shakes his head. “Something else.”

Kageyama’s sagging on his injured side again, and his eyes are blurred with confusion, a few seconds short of a heart attack.

“We’ll beat you, Grand King!” Hinata yells. “You’ll see! Next time!”

Oikawa turns quietly. “Chibi-chan, you’re pretty fast. You’re crude, but you’re brave too.”

The sudden compliment flusters Hinata. It’s usually nice to get praised by an enemy, Oikawa’s words cut through him like an icy wind.

“You’re a Rider, aren’t you? Then you have the worst compatibility with your Master. Even the strongest Servant can’t do much if they don’t have any mana— or if they keep taking more than they need.”

Each truth pierces him through. Without his memories, there’s no regulation on his powers, so he’s just a big mana sponge. If it wasn’t for the fact that this War was so unusual, with an absurdly high amount of mana in the land, then Yachi would have been dead minutes after they made their contract.

“I’ve been lucky enough to be in the same War as my annoyingly dear apprentice with that sham he calls magecraft. So try not to kill your own Master before I can beat Nero-chan properly, okay?”

"But—" Yahaba starts, but he's cut short by Oikawa's, "Going home!"

Oikawa turns his back on them, black obi fluttering, and dissolves into blue dust.

"...He left," Tsukishima deadpans.

Yahaba glares at them. His grip tightens on his spear, and one foot tensing against the ground.

“Yahaba, Kindaichi.”

“Yes?” Yahaba’s tone softens, while Kindaichi responds to Iwaizumi with an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

“You both go back too,” Iwaizumi commands. “And heal up, alright?”

Kindaichi doesn’t question the command; he ventures off into the forest without looking back. Yahaba lingers for a moment longer before he follows with a huff.

Kageyama manages to stand with the help of his sword. His breathing is uneven, and his coat drags on the ground as he limps forward.

“Yachi?” Hinata whispers. Her shaking fingers are threatening to widen the gaping hole in his right sleeve. “Are you okay?”

She vigorously nods. Her eyes find the only enemy left; a solid figure, with no sign of moving.

Hinata braces himself. Iwaizumi’s mana is of extremely high quality; it boasts a hero that won’t be defeated easily. Something about him seems almost divine, as if a heavenly being has its eye on him. There’s not much he can do if Iwaizumi decides to attack - Hinata covers Yachi as much as he can with his body. He has a better chance at deflecting a blow than a human would.

Iwaizumi speaks up once the dead leaves have settled. “Hey you, Master over there. Did the idiot hurt you?”

Yachi’s entire body recoils, and she tries to crawl further into Hinata’s arms.

Iwaizumi’s sandal barely rustles the grass when he steps forward, but Hinata hears the earth crack instead. Tsukishima hovers nearby, a dark warning in perfect range to attack. Iwaizumi tilts his head to look at Tsukishima, and then turns back, expression unchanged.

Another step.

“Stop.” Hinata churns the wind around him, thick and ready to slice.

With an even voice, Iwaizumi says, “I’m just going to check her for injuries. I’m not going to hurt her.”

Tsukishima laughs into his sleeve. “An enemy Servant wouldn’t miss an opportunity to kill a Master.”

“I would’ve done that while the other three were here,” Iwaizumi responds without missing a beat. “If Oikawa wants to keep her alive, then that’s what he wants.”

A clatter as Kageyama plants his sword by Iwaizumi’s side. His breath is heavy, and he looks at Iwaizumi with lips pressed thin. “Hinata, it’s fine.”

Hinata’s mouth almost falls open, and Tsukishima’s eyes go wide behind his glasses. “Has the mad emperor finally lost his mind?” Tsukishima snarls.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Kageyama insists. “I know him.”

Hinata swallows, his tongue tracking the edges of his teeth. Kageyama’s face is screwed up in equal amounts of pain and determination. “Yachi,” Hinata lowers his voice, keeps it as soft as he can manage, “I’m going to let him approach, okay? Kageyama vouched for him. Keep your hand on my arm. If he hurts you even a little bit, squeeze and I’ll take care of it.”

Yachi peeks up, and looks from Hinata to Iwaizumi. Fear curls in her eyes, but she swallows once. Twice. “Okay.”

Iwaizumi lets go of his staff, and it remains perfectly upright, even without anyone holding it. The red prayer beads around his neck jangle as he kneels by Yachi’s side. “I just want to make sure that moron didn’t hurt you too badly. Understand?”

Yachi takes a moment to respond, but she nods.

“Good. Tilt your head to the left. You don’t have to do it fast. Just like that. To the right— hey, you don’t have to bend that much.”

Hinata tracks Iwaizumi’s every move: where his eyes go, how he shifts his weight. Having a maybe-hostile enemy Servant so close swirls his stomach, but Yachi hasn’t squeezed his arm yet.

Iwaizumi frowns and squints at Yachi. “What’s with your mana? Are you really a Master?”

“She’s  _my_ Master! Don’t forget it!” Hinata shouts back.

A chuckle. “Weird little yaoguai, aren’t you?” With a grunt of exertion, he stands again. “If her mana’s always supposed to be that low, then she’s fine.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Tsukishima sneers.

“Of course. This is the will of the great Buddha,” Iwaizumi answers so smoothly that Tsukishima curls his lip in disgust.

Iwaizumi stops in front of Kageyama, and Kageyama’s mouth crinkles. He drops his chin, eyes glued to the forest floor.

“Nero.”

“It’s Kageyama now.”

“Right. We might be on different sides this time, but I will say this. Take care of yourself.”

Kageyama picks his head up, eyes wide. His shoulders sag with a shudder, his coat fluttering in the evening breeze. “You too,” he murmurs.

Iwaizumi turns his back to them and walks into the forest, and somewhere between the palpitations of fear in his heart, Hinata is filled with awe _._

For a moment, nobody dares to move. The forest is quiet except the whistle of a soft breeze. The setting sun drags reds and yellows behind it, a slow procession before the sky is swallowed up with dark clouds.

They’re slow to get up. Tsukishima closes his mouth over something sharp before he vanishes into spiritual form. Hinata helps Yachi up, and they make their way back towards the castle.

The walk back is steeped in silence. Yachi is dragging her feet, but Hinata slows his pace so he can stay by her side. She doesn’t look at any of them.

She doesn’t look at anything.

“That was too close,” Hinata says. Who knows why Oikawa stopped, but if he hadn’t, they’d all be dead right now.

Kageyama frowns at the space between stone tiles. “I’m going to surpass Oikawa,” he promises. “I have to, this time.”

“If he’s the enemy leader, then we’re going to have to beat them if we want to win the war.” Hinata boils over and kicks his feet against the air. “Argh! This is the worst! Kageyama, next time we’ll beat him good!”

“Right,” Kageyama says without emotion, “I don’t have a choice.”

A thump. The books have slipped out of Yachi’s arms, and papers spill across the dirt. Clouds blur her eyes, and her shoulders heave with every strangled breath. She’s holding onto a tree for support, but her wrist gives way, and she topples over. Hinata catches her before she hits the ground, but she hangs limp in his arms. Her breath is short, and she’s burning up like she suddenly sprung a fever. When he calls out her name, all she can do is spill half-words out of her mouth.

“Kageyama!” Tsukishima’s voice echoes in their ears, “go into spiritual form!”

But Kageyama’s ears are shut, and his hands are unsteady as they hover over Yachi, unsure whether to touch her or not. His skin loses color and his form flickers like a ghost in mist. “Why? What’s—”

“Because, _your majesty_ , you’re taxing her too much! So if you don’t want us all to vanish right now, go into spiritual form! Hurry!”

The words snap Kageyama back, and his figure dissolves.

In the whirlwind of panic, Hinata can’t tell where Tsukishima is. He can only babble, “What do I—”

“Get her back home. And hurry up!”

Hinata’s throat hurts. Stones have filled his clothes and are dragging him towards the deep, but he can’t drown now. His Master’s _dying_ . He can’t depend on anyone else— they’re depending on _him_. He doesn’t want this responsibility, but if he doesn’t fight, then his shadow will be blue in the night, until it washes away completely.

He scoops Yachi up in his arms, and tucks her head into his shoulder. He rips clouds apart, faster than the wind itself, following the faint trace of mana back to the other Karasuno servants. His failures are a tower of skeletons, but he won’t let her decorate the top.

He won’t fail. Not this time.


	4. Metronome

Peace. No moon in the sky, no light anywhere, like being wrapped in an eternal blanket. It isn’t as warm as a blanket, more like sitting in a bath gone lukewarm. She curls up, bringing the shadows around her, and buries her face into the ground.

So tired, maybe she should keep on sleeping. Just close her eyes and sink. Nothingness is comfort, with no worries or hardships. Some part of her has always been tempted, not by death, but of dissolving peacefully. Taking a knife to her wrist, choking and swinging: those always seemed too painful and terrifying. If only she could just float away, melt into mist and leave no trace behind.

To think she’d face the endless nothingness so soon. Keep that blanket wrapped around tighter and sink, sink…

“Mana flow has increased. Secondary transfusion seems to be successful.”

Someone is holding up a match in the darkness, disturbing her rest. The kindling flame has an eerie glow, illuminating the an angel in a woman’s form. Yachi never placed bets on which religion should turn out to be true, but now the proof is right in front of her. The angel’s face is blurred, like someone scrawled crayon all over it, but Yachi knows that between the angel’s long dark hair, she’s unquestionably beautiful.

“She’s awake,” the angel says.

Yachi tries to respond, but her throat is caked with sand. 

“Can you sit up?” 

But it’s so comfortable here. Away from everything, all the troubles and fear and everything that comes with the day to day. The shadows retreat into a creamy white space, no longer dark but still hollow. Her sleepy eyes catch a discolored splash on the right wall. No, it’s round, with a white space in the middle. Hasn’t she seen that before? It looks a lot like her mother’s antique mirror in her living room. 

“Come on, get up.” 

She knows that voice.

The first breath she’s taken in forever sears her throat. Every fold and crack strains with every push of air, and her mind kicks up dust. Drowning— she’s drowning in air that should keep her alive, and she can’t even scream for help. Her mother’s mirror gleams on the wall, beautiful enough to slice through her neck in the dead of the woods.

A hand is placed on her forehead. Calluses are stuck beneath the tight row of fingers, but the warmth smothers Yachi’s panic. Safety blossoms from that hand, easing through Yachi’s body and pushing her into the pillow beneath her head.

The soft tones of her house meet the corners of her eyes. Her mother’s fine wool blanket is draped over her body, tucked tight into the corners of the living room couch to keep her cocooned. The waning pink of sunrise drifts through clouded windows.

Even if she didn’t recognize the furnishings, it’s way too loud to be a hospital. Her bones creak for every centimeter she moves her neck, but she forces her head to the side. Hinata and Tsukishima are sitting on their knees, heads bowed to a furious Sawamura. Kageyama is lying down on the other couch, mouth mashed closed and in no position to move.

Sawamura looks ready to uproot a tree with his bare hands. “Don’t you think about how much mana you consume? You have to _think_ before you fight!”

“Who would’ve thought she’d get drained that quickly?” Tsukishima retorts, but Sawamura’s glare slaps the words out of his mouth.

The warm hand moves from Yachi’s forehead and back to Shimizu’s side. With the overhead light behind her, Shimizu’s dark hair is framed with a halo. Her lips are stiff on her face, and Yachi wants to apologize. Something about the way she’s bent her brow makes it clear that something’s wrong beyond what Yachi can see. “She’s awake,” Shimizu says.

Footsteps scuff against the floorboards and fabric rustles as the room erupts. Quickest of all is Hinata, leaping from his place on the floor to the air above Yachi’s head. He reaches for her, but stops short, hands curling right above her. Dark eyes blurring, he mouths around words too quiet for her to hear, before blurting out. “I’m sorry! I had to carry you back. I went as fast as I could, but…”

A scene from a movie she accidentally saw when she was little trickles across her mind. A man, waking up from an explosion, reaches out to the doctor and realizes that his arm is gone. One of her arms is across her stomach, and the other is buried under the blankets. Ten fingers, wiggling one by one. Ten toes, but she’s used to checking up on those. The moment she loses control of one of her toes, her fate of back problems for the rest of her life is sealed.

“My limbs are fine,” she mumbles.

“We made sure you weren’t hurt! Your body should be okay! But…”

The bandage on Shimizu’s hand is a dull red, unlike a wound that should have stopped bleeding days ago. “I had to reopen a part of it,” she explains as Yachi pales. “You needed mana.”

“Mana?”

“The clash with Aoba Jousai ended up draining you faster than any of us expected. Servants feed off your mana, and you gave more than you had. Far more. You collapsed and had to be rushed back here. You’ve been recharging while you rested.”

“Then…”

“Mana’s recharged in two ways,” comes a timid voice from where she can’t see, Azumane. “One, by resting on a leyline. Two, by consuming a mage’s bodily fluids. It’s a bit unsanitary, but...”

Yachi’s mind maps out scenarios faster than a sharp gust of wind. There are no syringes in the house; she threw them all out once her mother recovered from her surgeries. Shimizu had to reopen her wound with something sharp, maybe the same kitchen knives that slice through lettuce and pork? Her lips- her dry lips that can’t hold chapstick for more than an hour were right against Shimizu’s pale skin. Her tongue had tasted blood that wasn’t her own. She’d drank it up, and it fueled her, casting her out from the nothingness. “I’m a vampire!” she wails.

“She’s fine,” Tsukishima dully says.

“No, no, no, not a vampire!” Yamaguchi cries from across the room. His shoes clatter as he stomps his feet. “You’re a good person!”

“I went as fast as I could,” Hinata droops like willow branches, “but it wasn’t enough. If I went a little faster, then this wouldn’t have taken so long!”

So long? Yachi searches for meaning, but her phone’s nowhere nearby and there’s no calendar in the living room.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days,” says Suga, ever helpful.

Three whole days of not going into work. Three whole days of not telling anyone where she’s been. “I’m going to get fired,” she squeaks.

A firm hold eases her up so that she’s sitting. A drunken haze swirls around her head, but Suga keeps her propped up until it dissipates. Everyone’s in the living room, looking at her, waiting for her to wake up. She’d blush, but most of her blood is still frantic in her chest. “Did we win?”

Kageyama grimaces. He still hasn’t moved from the couch. “We lived.”

She could be dead. They could all be dead. She molds her fear against the folds of her guts and looks away from the light streaming through the windows. Her mother’s mirror glitters in the purple rays of the dawn.

“Well, she’s awake,” Tsukishima grunts as he stands up, the dark fabric of his cloak pooling beneath him. “We’ve been holding off this discussion for days. We need to talk about what happened.”

“She just woke up, like a princess.” Yamaguchi’s voice is firm and furious.

“She’s coherent. How long as we going to wait— when the enemy’s right nearby? Sure, let’s be patient, let’s sit still and hold her hand until Aoba Jousai figures out where we are and attacks first. Why not? We have all the time in the world.”

Yachi sees the storm in Hinata’s glare, but she also sees how no words are tumbling out of his mouth.

“You’re right,” Sawamura cuts the tension before it explodes. “But there’s always _word choice_ , you know?”

Tsukishima shrugs, uncaring. “We already know our situation. But most importantly is his majesty.” Tsukishima’s glare creeps towards Kageyama. “Don’t you have something to tell us?”

“Do I?”

“Those two Casters we fought against— you knew them.”

Kageyama’s mouth opens with a retort at the ready, but he bites it back. A shadow washes over his head, turning his face as dark as his clothes. A long breath, and then, “Yeah. I do.”

“Is that why the Grand King beat you up?”

“ _Tried to_ ,” Kageyama swats towards Hinata, who instinctively escapes by pulling up towards the ceiling.

“Convincing,” Tsukishima snidely adds.

Kageyama grinds his teeth, pinched up tight. “That doesn’t matter. I still know them well enough. In the last Grail War, we were allies. Sort of, I guess. Oikawa was summoned as a Berserker back then, but the basics of how he fights should still be the same—”

“How?” Suga stands, soft face gone firm. “Memories shouldn’t carry over between Grail Wars. Unless you have some sort of connection to the World, that should be a firm rule.”

“It is?” Kageyama sees Suga’s mouth in a thin line, and his neck flushes pink. “The last War was my first. I thought it was normal, since they both recognized me too… but...”

Hinata snorts. “You were acting like some big hotshot, but you were only summoned once before?”

“Once is more than zero!” Kageyama shouts back, wincing when he leans on his injured side.

Quiet in the storm, Suga peeks into the corners of Kageyama’s face. “Well, if you don’t know, you don’t know.”

“This whole Grail War’s not normal,” Nishinoya says. “Whoever heard of eight Servants on one side? What’s one more exception at that point?”

Suga’s brow creases, and he purses his lips. “I suppose that’s true. But listen, if you know something, tell us. Even if it’s small, we might be able to make some use out of it.”

Kageyama shifts, like a hand under the covers had grabbed his pinky and twisted it around. Squeezing his tongue around the pain, he allows himself to swallow. “I don’t know Oikawa’s True Name. We were supposed to share them all with each other, but he never gave his. But I do know Iwaizumi’s. He’s Xuanzang Sanzang.”

Yachi knows of _Journey to the West_ and of the capable monk Genjo Sanzou— or Xuanzang Sanzang. The naive monk who went on a great pilgrimage from China to India, with the monkey king Sun Wukong, the river spirit Sha Wujing, and the pig monster Xu Baije as his followers. Known for his resilience, good heart, and determination. But…

“Are you sure?” Hinata speaks up. “He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to get kidnapped. Or the panicky type.”

“He said something about reflecting on past actions in life… something like that.”

“I think it worked a little too well.”

“He’s more than a capable Caster. Very reliable. I’d say that Oikawa trusts him completely.”

“You’re saying good things about him.”

“I know how to praise others who deserve it.” Kageyama ignores Hinata’s hiss. “If we had to reason with anyone in Aoba Jousai, it would be Iwaizumi.”

“Do we really have to reason with them? It’s not like every other team isn’t going to be our enemy.”

“It’s better to have allies then enemies, right?” Azumane quietly responds to Tsukishima’s question. “Even if they’re not going to last, it’s better than running around all the time, right?”

Tsukishima’s glare is enough to make Azumane wither, but Tsukishima retracts it with a sigh. “That’s not wrong.” He snaps his fingers, and a crackling ball of energy appears above his hand. Yachi flinches, expecting it to fly forward, but it stays hovering above Tsukishima’s palm. Something floats in the middle, locked in place by threads of swirling sparks. “That other Caster, Oikawa, used these.”

Hinata floats around it, finger ready to give it a prod, when, “And don’t touch it, unless you want it to activate.”

“Say that first!”

“I shouldn’t have to say something so obvious. Anyway, this is high-level magecraft. I’m not too familiar with magecraft east of my country, and this isn’t from the Age of the Gods. But it has enough power to make it seem like it was. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me see!” Hinata tries to float closer, but Tsukishima grabs his face and shoves him back.

“Interruptions aside, Oikawa is the faction leader of Aoba Jousai, which makes them Team Caster. A faction leader with that kind of power is a problem.”

Hinata tries a second time, and gets close enough to singe his eyelashes. “It looks like the stuff the onmyouji used to use. You know, those paper slips?” Tsukishima frowns at him, eyes wide, but Hinata doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, it is just like that. Or close? It’s not exact— some of those symbols aren’t Japanese, for sure.”

“How do you know? Can you use magecraft?” Azumane politely asks.

“I don’t think so. Never had the talent for that stuff.”

Suga steps forward to get a closer look, squinting at the swirls of ink. He mutters something under his breath, in a language Yachi can’t understand, and sharply pulls back. “This isn’t normal magecraft— this is a high-level curse. The moment it comes into contact with something, it’ll activate.”

Hinata darts back, nearly knocking into the couch.

Tsukishima turns to face them all, the hard look on his face somehow both serious and smug. “As I said, we need a plan.”

Still contained, the ofuda is crumpled by invisible hands, the ink lighting up as soon as the first crinkle runs across it. Flames erupt inside the bubble, beating against the crackling barrier. They rage, howling until there is nothing left to burn. The barrier wavers, and then crumples into ash.

Yachi’s fingers dig into the blanket until her nails bite through into her palm. She can no longer look at the rest of them, standing serious and tense. Her heart is frantic, beating up and down her throat until she wants to cry. This is hopeless. All hopeless. “Thank you for watching over me. If you could… for just a moment…”

Sawamura stands up wordlessly, and motions for everyone to follow him. Some like Azumane, linger with worried looks, but in the end they all follow Sawamura out of the room.

“That knight smashed in three of my ribs.” The words come out of Kageyama’s mouth like sludge. “I can leave, if you want.”

She’s not going to force an injured person to move. She shakes her head, and Kageyama flops back. Hinata drifts down, settling onto one of the armrests.

“Sorry.” She can’t see Kageyama’s face, turned into the sofa like that. “It’ll take a few more days for me to heal up. Until then—”

“I’ll protect her.” Hinata leaves no room for debate. “I’ll be extra careful. This won’t happen again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Even if that Grand King is strong, if he tries to pick on Yachi again, I’ll pull out his tail!”

Kageyama turns back around, squinting. “Oikawa doesn’t have a tail.”

Hinata blinks, tilting his head. “Oh yeah, you’re right.”

Yachi’s only half listening. If only she could crumple like a piece of paper, burn up in the fire in her chest, and scatter into ash. She turns to Shimizu and hates the way she knows she looks right now, with her eyes are puffy from tears about to fall and her voice sounding like sandpaper. “Do I still have to…”

“Yes.”

Yachi nods, knowing that Shimizu already lost her chance, and is setting her back on the right path. She knew that this was going to be life and death, only now she knows it’s real. It’s real, and even if she wants to take it all back, there’s no way she can do that now.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Kenma is running on three hours of sleep. Maybe two.

He’s always made the joke that he doesn’t need sleep, but after running himself into the ground just a little too hard, he’s taken to making that less of a reality. Even if now he really doesn’t need any. Still, looking into the game on the poster that salesman gave him was a mistake. A big mistake.

“I’ll just try it out,” he said to himself while laying in bed. After all, there was a promotion going on, and the company was giving out free premium currency to obtain units. The animation style was catchy, nothing greater than he had seen before, but he’d done his research beforehand. He needed a rainbow stone, and it only appeared twice so far. Still, that was enough to form a party, and start playing some quests to get things going.

Before he knew it, the sun was rising.

It’s the quietest Sunday he’s had in a long time, and that’s probably for the best. He’s operating at half power, and all his observations come in at a slow speed. Someone pocketing a book just might be able to get past him this time. No good.

But that game was so much fun.  

The wrapper around the melon bread crinkles as Kenma takes a bite. Kamasaki has made good on his promise to keep bringing in food for Kenma, despite Kenma’s protests. The people back home were also equally loud and stubborn. It’s probably his fate to be stuck with this type.

Yachi hadn’t showed up to work in three days. According to Kamasaki, she’s out sick— so says the woman on the other end of the line. “That wasn’t her mother. Since when does she have a girl answering the phone for her?”

When she showed up today, anemic-pale but on her two feet, Kamasaki asked her what happened. She smiled and said it was just a bad cold. He’s not a good spy, but he knows exactly when people aren’t paying attention. They’re on the closing shift together, and Yachi is far too pale. She looks wide awake, but acts like she hasn’t slept in a week. When she thinks nobody else is looking, she leans against the bookshelves to catch her breath, like even walking makes her tired. “Are you over your cold?” he asks her when the store has slowed.

Her hand hitches under the pile of books she’s shifting, creasing the cover of the book on the bottom. “Yeah, I am! Still not perfect, but I’m getting over it. Sorry if I’ve been a little slower today…”

Her eyes have a film of exhaustion, but they aren’t cloudy or unfocused. Her voice isn’t scratchy or achy, only worn down.

“It’s fine,” he replies.

She’s a terrible liar.

He needed this easy day. When there aren’t customers asking him questions, he can sift through the books and arrange them all in logical order. It’s just a distraction, but he needs to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied. Dead time just might be the end of him.

His phone is the first thing he pulls out once his shift is over. Another roll, another glitter of sparkly stones— but nothing special. That’s fine. This game is mindless overall, but there’s some strategy involved. He has to one day know what to press and where, and the names of all the characters and how they synergize. Easy thinking.

He’s so busy tapping on his phone that he almost trips over the person sitting on the steps of the employee exit. They both make eye contact an “Ah,” slipping from their mouths at the same time. There Hinata is, large winter hat snug tightly over his head with his fire hair struggling to get out on the sides, and his wide eyes shimmering. His eyes crinkle up when he grins, and he shifts excitedly, debating whether to spring up or stay seated. The dust that blows through the street has left perfect halos around Hinata’s footprints, but his nose isn’t red, even in this cold.

“You’re worried about her?” Kenma asks, not sure whether to bury his eyes in his game or try to match Hinata’s iridescence. The former is a lot easier.

“Sure I am! If anything happens to Yachi, then I’m in a lot of trouble, too.”

Kenma looks down at Hinata, who doesn’t have a trace of doubt in his face. He’s not sure if Hinata’s looped around to trusting him that quickly, or he’s the type to keep himself open all the time. Either way, his heart is slowing, as the blood normally pounding in his head as he sorts through a thousand observations at once, is now just some dull thumps.

“You don’t have to be that concerned.”

Hinata lets out a thin wheeze. “That pretty woman said the same thing. Is it that weird to want to help someone out?”

“A little.”

“It shouldn’t be.” He flops back down, eyes glazed and far beyond the pavement. “Nobody helped me when I didn’t know anything.”

Kenma can’t help the way his eyes go sharp. “Like what?”

Hinata blinks, the distance in his eyes retreating. “I forgot.”

You don’t just forget something important like that, the same way you don’t forget the kind of things you like or the books you read. Kenma looks down at Hinta, his long hair covering his mouth, and asks, “How did you forget?”

Hinata plops his chin into his hand and angrily hums. “I don’t know! It’s weird! All that’s left is like— like half eaten tofu! You get it, right?”

He does not.

“I guess it’s like, one moment I have everything put together, and the next a chunk of me is gone. Gone somewhere. I don’t know.”

“Then you must not be good at punching.”

Hinata’s head shoots up, offended. “I’m great at punching!”

Yachi comes out the door next, keys jangling in her hands as she tries to remember which one closes the store. She reddens when she realizes that she has company, but her usual fright beats back that flush. “Hinata, were you keeping Kozume?”

Hinata goes stiff, wondering if he had. His usual vibrations have gone dull. It never occurred to Hinata at all, Kenma realizes, to not let him pass by without saying something.

“He wasn’t,” Kenma says instead.

All that energy is back in a second. “I’m hungry! Let’s get some food! I saw a store not so far away— it was smaller than the store you took me into but it’s open all the time. And the lights are so strong in there.”

“A convenience store?” Yachi translates.

“Right! Kenma, come with us!”

“You don’t have to if you’re busy,” Yachi says, giving him an out.

The latest node is still running, characters waiting for his command, but he pockets his phone. “I’m not busy.”

The conbini’s only a few blocks away from the store, further away from the train. Hinata fills the air with details about his neighborhood patrols, and how he had to familiarize himself with the place if he’s going to be around here often. Kenma silently agrees— before he’d taken up the job, he’d memorized everything within a three kilometer radius, just in case. Yachi nods, only half-listening until the cashier rings up the total. She goes stiff at the number, counts the number of onigiri in Hinata’s basket, and then reluctantly hands over her credit card.

He waits for them by the exit, looking idly at the brightly colored posters on the walls. He doesn’t plan on buying anything, but still flinches when Hinata barrels towards him. “You didn’t want anything, so I got you this!”

It’s a tiny box of strawberry chocolate shaped like small mountains. Yachi was the one who really paid for it, but Hinata is waiting with his arm outstretched, smiling like nothing’s wrong in the world.

“Thanks,” he says, and takes the box.

He nibbles it as they leave the warm store, knowing it’s rude to be given food and not eat it where the host can see. Hinata’s gone on to ask Yachi about her day, and when she tries to shake him off by telling him it’s boring, he tells her, “It’s not boring! It’s yours.”

She slows at that, because she, like Kenma, has never heard that before. Her story starts out plain, but as she reaches for more details, the tiredness in her voice goes away. It is a boring story, but Hinata’s listening like it’s the most interesting thing, even if it’s clear he doesn’t understand most of it. Kenma chews on his chocolate, and as the tang spreads across his tongue, he feels warm and pliable.

Kenma’s so focused on Hinata that he notices the extra pair of footsteps too late.

Three young girls chatting together, two boys off to the side on their phones, an old man and his cane, a middle aged woman and her bags of clothes, and one more. They don’t make a sound, but they leave an invisible scratching against Kenma’s neck as they watch him. He can’t turn and look, because that would let whoever’s there know that they’ve been found. Even if he did, he knows he wouldn’t see anything, because these types don’t allow themselves to be seen unless they want to be seen.

Hinata dips his head close to Kenma’s ear. “Everything okay?”

“No.” He could keep it secret, but there’s no way he can fight someone off on his own. “Someone’s back there. Following us.”

Hinata stays static, his eyes gone into that smooth void where nobody can follow. He says nothing, but his jaw twitches as his starts to crane his neck back—

Terror grips Kenma as he hisses out a sharp, urgent, "No."

Yachi keeps talking, focused on remembering the details of her day, but Hinata hears him, and stops. He shuffles closer, always hovering, never close enough to make contact. "Can they see us?"

"Yes." Just in case, they can't make any sudden moves.

"What should we do?"

It's too risky to clash with them right now, not while the evening crowd is filtering through the streets. "Keep walking. Pretend." There's a 56% chance that they'll be hit from behind, but that drops to 20% if they're in a crowd.

Hinata teeters, and it's not his weak legs. "I don't think I can act."

"Just," he's not sure what advice to give. Hinata is far too much chaos for subtlety. "Focus. Don't look back."

With a gulp of breath, Hinata puts his chest forward.

It watches them.

Shivering is too obvious, even if the urge is shaking his spine. He wants to look, but he forces his gaze forward. His heart won't stop pounding in his chest, and his brain starts sprinting. It swallows up every minor detail around them, how many shoes in the crowd gathering by the crosswalk, the seconds between the commercial changes on the screen off the nearest skyscraper, all of it.

Wrongness sweeps over him as people unconsciously make space for an invisible person. Ten seconds until the light changes.

The glass windows of the boutique on the corner curves around the people, bending them tall around the slim mannequins in the windows.

Seven seconds.

Hinata swallows, keeping his face forcefully forward.

Four seconds.

Yachi looks at Hinata, taking a break from her flitting. Her wide eyes shows she knows something's wrong, and the part of her mouth shows she's about to say it.

One second.

There's a rustle of leather soles as the businessman behind him shifts to to the side.

The stoplight turns green, and Hinata whisks them both forward, hurried but not fast enough to be unusual.

"Hinata," Yachi gasps, her heart beating through every thin breath. Her hand is tight around Hinata's wrist so that she doesn't fall behind. "We don't have to go so fast, we're not going to miss the train—"

"Leave it to me!" Hinata's cheer is so realistic that Kenma can't tell if he's faking it. He’s fast and grips Kenma’s arm tightly. Even hobbling, he’s still faster than any of the pedestrians around them, and they breeze down the sidewalk and down one of the sidestreets.

They just pass a dead parking garage when someone zips in front of them. There's a maroon scarf around his neck and a bodysuit wrapping his muscles tight. Tan skin, too shimmery to be real, and brown hair in an undercut short for practicality. The light armor over his limbs looks too well put together to be worn, likely attached to his body instead. Armor is to be worn, not adhered, so he can't be human. A body too smooth, with indents at the limbs. He stays clinging to the wall with small hooks at the bottom of his feet that make his posture slightly uneven.

"N-Ninja?" Yachi stammers.

"A robot ninja!" Hinata exclaims.

"It's more of an automaton... one of your country's karakuri." A well-made karakuri too, with panels all perfectly fitted together. A familiar or an enemy? Kenma squints at the ninja's chest, and sees a swirl of energy of a Saint Graph humming inside. A Servant.

"I had my Presence Concealment active," the ninja says, disturbed, an unspoken _how_ in his mouth.

Because even if a skill can mute presence, even if years of training can make steps silent, that doesn't change the fact that the world shifts from a person being there. No presence is truly erasable, not if you know which signs to pick up.

"A guess," Kenma softly replies.

Bullets are coming his way, out from barrels hidden inside the ninja's fingers. A gasp trickles out of his mouth— his eyes were always faster than his body, and soon those bullets would tear through his skull.

The bullet tips brush his eyelashes, hovering in place. Hinata flicks his finger and sends them clattering on the pavement. "What do you think you're doing—" he starts before he catches another wave of bullets with a gust of wind.

The ninja's twisted himself off the wall, throwing himself at them. Hinata meets the impact head on, countering a kick to the head with a cushion of air. A smooth fist lunges towards Hinata's neck, but Hinata thrusts his left arm forward to block it. They collide, and Hinata yelps in pain. A gust rushes through the alley, blowing the ninja back midway through.

Two deep gashes mar Hinata's arm, mirroring the blades popping out of the ninja's elbow. His face scrunches up with pain, and he shakes off his hat, red hair billowing wild in the churning typhoon.

Wild wind bends as the ninja leaps again, but Kenma is ready. The flow of his magecraft stretches through his body as he slams his hand against the buildingside. Plaster, steel, brick, concrete. A wall in a different form. The flat of the building ripples and the narrow alley turns into a tunnel. Bricks jut out like jagged rocks, crossing and crossing and stitching themselves together until all that remains in front of them is another wall.

Yachi is staring at him, mouth agape.

"Kenma?" Hinata asks, the depth of his wound forgotten.

It's a temporary barrier. There's no way it'll hold for more than twenty seconds. Kenma turns back towards them, chest heaving. It's no good to jumpstart his magecraft without warming up, but in battle, there's no choice. To their wide eyes, he says evenly, "We should go."

 

* * *

 

During the daytime, he and Kageyama went on exploratory patrols down the streets around Yachi's bookstore, but he can't remember the details. All his thoughts have been swept up by adrenaline, only filled with a constantly cycling, _enemy, Servant, Assassin, run, run, run_.

There's not enough room for three people on a sidewalk wide enough for one person. Yachi yelps as she clips a pack of schoolgirls. What's most important is keeping her safe and close, and making sure her hand doesn't leave his. On the other side, Kenma's breath is ragged, but he's not letting go of Kenma either.

"Where—- Hinata—" Yachi manages between gasps.

Anywhere will do, because no place is safe. Although if Hinata's being honest with himself, he has no idea where he's running. He can't tell if the enemy is right behind him, urgh, if only Assassins didn't have their signature skill! How Kenma managed to spot an enemy is a mystery, but he doubts that Kenma can do the same thing while he's wheezing.

Down the streets, faster, faster. If only Hinata could go at his full speed, or pick them both up and fly high into the air,

When they duck down another alley, something crashes down in front of him and explodes.

A push of wind sends the flames and debris all around them as Hinata pulls them both behind him. A blade whizzes right past his ears, chopping off some hair. The ninja is right behind him, and Hinata spins on his heels, knocking up another gust to block the next blow.

The smoke twists as a blade slices down past Hinata’s cheek and keeps going, right towards Kenma.

_No._

Hinata slams his forehead into the ninja— shoulder, arm, it doesn't matter as long as it hits— as a clang rings in his head. The tip of the blade grinds against a small octagonal mirror. The ninja stumbles back, lost in the smoke.

"Akaashi said you were trouble!" The ninja's voice bounces through the smoke. Yachi yelps as another blade nearly cuts into her waist. The three of them spiral through the air, tumbling through the smoke.

"Hinata! The smoke! Get rid of it!" Yachi cries out.

He coils the air under his palms and let its rip free, as a tornado tears through the alley. The winds batter the ninja, but he breaks free and skids to a stop along the wall.

"Why are you protecting him?" The ninja asks. "You're not in an alliance. It's none of your business."

Yachi turns to stare at Kenma. "What did you _do_?"

Kenma is silent, his face is veiled by his long hair, forced out of the hairtie from the battle.

"Kenma's my friend!" Hinata shouts back. "You're trying to hurt my friend and my Master!"

The ninja blinks, dumbfounded. He scratches his head and a forced laugh come from his lips. "You're a weird Servant, you know that? Well, okay. We’d had to fight you anyway, sometime down the line."

A click, and Hinata's gut caves in. A fist digs into his chest, attached to the ninja's elbow by a long wire. He goes tumbling, and the ground is getting closer. He twists around, pressing Yachi and Kenma close to him. His back hits the ground first, and then two body weights come crashing down on top of him.

His head's a daze, but he sees the ninja stepping back, exhaust steaming from his joints. There's no way Hinata can throw both Yachi and Kenma off in time.

Hinata jerks around as Kenma’s fingers press against his jawline. Golden eyes and pale skin swallow up his vision, and something warm his against his forehead. “I don’t want to deal with this right now,” Kenma grumbles, “so I’ll help you out.” Up close, Kenma’s eyes have flickers of black among the gold, a trail of ink across gold leaf. How long had it been since Hinata thought breathing was easy?

A strike of lightning tears the storm in two. All the debris in his mind is blown away. One breath. It spins inside him, gently, round and round. Another. Gone is the heavy air he keeps knotted under his toes. He blinks a few times, expecting to float up, up, up, until he’s nothing but smoke in the clouds, but he’s still close to the earth.

“Can you hear me?”

He only knows fog, never clear skies. His tongue is slack until he finds it again. “Yeah.”

“The enemy.” In the middle of emptiness, Hinata sees the ninja with his arm outstretched. “He’s ready to shoot, isn’t he? Watch.” Kenma said so, so Hinata keeps his eyes on the arm. The arm clicks like a clock, the compartments shifting open. Unfolding, into a slim tube—

So slow.

“Exactly.” Kenma’s voice swims through his head. “You’re fast. And he has to unlock his body before he can fire, or else the bullets will ricochet inside him. So before he unlocks…”

Got it. Hinata twists the wind under his palm, and throws it. The ninja has barely any time to react before he’s blasted back.

He pulls Yachi and Kenma behind him, cushioning their fall with a tuft of air. Kageyama’s magecraft made the small flame inside him billow into an inferno, but Kenma’s magecraft sharpens the world to a knifepoint. He senses everything at once, like he’s sprouted a hundred eyes and ears, but it all flows in order instead of drowning him.

Before, the ninja moved too fast for Hinata to track, but now it’s like he’s swimming in gelatin. As the ninja swipes at Hinata, he moves just slightly to the side to avoid the blow. He finds a rock just small enough to fit in his fist and slams it into the ninja’s stomach.

The ninja chokes, but what grinds against Hinata’s knuckles isn’t bending. The hit startles him enough that he can’t block the wall of wind that Hinata smashes straight into him. He’s knocked back stumbling, and comes up furious. “This is taking too long,” he grumbles.

With a clink, his hands pop out of place, but no bullets come from the tube beneath. He thrusts his arm forward at them, his hands rotating around the hollow hole.

A breeze whirls up Hinata’s legs. The only strong wind in this alley should be the one Hinata has knotted under his fingers, but something is curling up, thrashing against his skin.

“ _Karakuri Genpou_ —”

“Don’t move!” Kenma slams his hand against the ground, and a boulder crashes down in front of Hinata. The second boulder skins Hinata’s nose when it comes down, and the third forms seals off the barricade before them.

“— _Dongyuu!_ ”

The wind becomes a hurricane, howling around them and beating wildly against the walls. It claws at anything it touches, peeling away brick and concrete alike and swallowing them whole. Those boulders Kenma summoned down wouldn’t be worn down even after a century, but they’re no match for a Noble Phantasm. First comes off a chip and then the rock is breaking down, spiraling away before his eyes. A yelp behind him as Yachi slides toward the rock, swept up in the vortex. A Noble Phantasm’s power is unimaginable, and a dormant mage like Yachi would be killed in an instant.

The wind’s not listening to him. It’s all confused, tangled up and jumbled inside a vortex that shouldn’t be there. When the wind scatters away from him again, fury churns inside him. There’s a reason why the wind’s not obeying him, but he doesn’t care— he isn’t thinking of anything but _Protect_ , and his own mount is getting in his way. He is its lord, and it will listen to _him!_

A few strands of wind hear and obey, and that’s more than enough. Hinata catches Yachi in one arm and leaps forward, pinning Kenma beneath his other arm. He presses the wind down on his back, pinning all three of them to the ground as the Noble Phantasm howls around him.

Just as quickly the hurricane has started, it dies down.

Three boulders were before them a minute ago, but now they’re only a scattering of pebbles. Anything in the alleyway that hadn’t been secured down is gone, and even that wasn’t enough. Lampposts have been uprooted, and the cars from the parking garage some distance behind them have been dragged into the street, smashed together in a twisted ramp.  

The ninja snaps his hands back into place and whistles. “I thought I hadn’t sucked you up. I can swallow even a cow whole, you know? You’re pretty stubborn.”

Hinata knows he can’t fight, not with Yachi already drained of mana as is. But he’s not going down easily, either. “We don’t have to fight. But try to touch them again and you’re dead,” he says, meaning every word.

The ninja shrugs. “You’re kind of nuts, even for a Servant. I respect that. But this is a war, gotta pull out weeds before they wreck the whole place.”

Steam bursts from the ninja’s joints, and Hinata curls the wind under his palms.

Liquid splashes over the ninja’s head. A red sake cup clatters to the ground, rolling to a stop against the broken sidewalk. The ninja leaps back to an invisible line of safety as a Servant warps into view between them.

The line his blood-red horns draws becomes longer and sharper when drawn against his height. Red geometric waves pattern the black kimono he keeps loose off one shoulder, secured in place by a red obi. A large gourd is at his hip with two smaller gourds secured tightly to its stem, but his entire body reeks of alcohol and overripe fruit. He scoops up the lacquer cup and as he inspects it for scratches, Hinata sees how his dark hair is wild and sweeps over his horns.

Fear grabs Hinata by the throat. Just as there were untold numbers of heroes in the Throne, there were just as monsters lurking in the depths. Nothing is more monstrous than oni.

Deeming the cup acceptable, the oni unhooks a small gourd made of blue glass, and pours the contents into the cup.

“Backup?” the ninja asks, tension creeping into his voice.

“I just have some errands to run.” The oni’s voice is uncomfortably playful, and he takes a sip. “This seems like some fun. You’re far away from Tokyo, aren’t you?”

“So are you!” The ninja growls, steam rushing around his chest as his back springs open.

“True. Catch.”

Even startled, the ninja catches the blue gourd with one hand. He opens his mouth to yell something— and then stumbles, eyes wide, as a dribble of oil falls from his mouth. A blade has sprung out of the bottom of the gourd and is buried deep in his chest. Staggering back, the ninja springs a knife from his arm, but the oni is behind him in a flash. With an effortless yank, the blade is torn free in an arc of oil and splinters.

The gouged torso hits the ground first, and the legs follow. The headless body twitches, a hand shooting up and grabbing the oni by the ankle. One stomp crushes the arm into scrap metal.

Shaking slivers off his black sandals, he sighs. “I don’t get these karakuri. They’re no fun.”

The corpse lingers in tubes and shredded wood where something human should be. Snapped strings and broken gears instead of bones. Gasoline and scattered gunpowder. A piece of metal rolls by Yachi’s foot and she screams, scrambling back. She gets one step before the piece dissolves into golden dust, sweeping up all traces that a body was once there.

Servants never leave bodies behind. They’re already dead, after all.

“You should be careful, you know? The owls followed you here .You need to hide yourself better.” The oni’s eyes drift to them, turned up in a way that makes Hinata shudder. “A Rider-class Servant and a Master who’s a young girl. You’re the Master of Karasuno, aren’t you?”

Yachi stiffens, half a breath in her throat.

Hinata stretches his hand in front of her. “And who are you?”

The oni’s long horns pierce the moon. His silhouette is unreadable in the nighttime glow. “A Servant from Nekoma. I was going to go look for you, but here you are. How convenient.”

A ripple of fear surges across Hinata’s throat. Ice grips his bones, deeper than the cold that normally flows through him.

He knows the tales of oni, whispered from the lips of storytellers. The harshest of the youkai: barbaric, dangerous, always drinking and laughing. They sneer at authority, and tear human flesh with their sharp fangs. They rampage through the countryside, beating the earth with their feet, always looking for a fight to cure their boredom.

One wrong move, and the oni will tear through Hinata to get to Yachi. And Kenma.

“You found us. So what do you want?”

The oni looks between them, not hiding the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “To talk, of course. Not now, this alley’s too dingy. Don’t worry, don’t worry. My Master has a proposal for the Master of Karasuno. Don’t you want to hear it out?”

Yachi stands like a tree about to be uprooted.

“We’ll think about it,” he tells the oni.

The oni flicks something forward, and Hinata catches it in a pocket of air. It looks like a crumpled piece of paper. “Come to that address tomorrow night at 10. You can bring your Servants.”

Hinata swishes his wrist, unfolding the paper. It looks like an address scrawled on there, all right. “What’s the proposal?”

It’s almost humiliating the way the oni laughs at him. “I’m not ruining the suspense. I saved you, didn’t I? As a thanks, stop by. No fights, just talk.”

“No fights?”

“Just talk.” The moonlight glints off his teeth. “See you tomorrow.” He gives them a callous wave before his form warps and scatters into mist, leaving only a prickling of alcohol against Hinata’s nose.

Two Assassins in one night. Hinata doesn’t move, in case the oni’s still there. He sweeps the alleyway with his winds, only moving when he can’t feel anything out of place.

“Yachi, here,” he carries the paper to her across a swirl of air.

The paper just misses Yachi as she lunges towards Kenma. He steps back, but not far enough to escape the death grip on his left. She inspects both his hands, the one by his side, and the other her prisoner. “You,” Yachi demands, eyes blazing, breathless. “Wall. Rocks. Magic. How?”

It takes him a moment to find control again, but he wriggles like he wants to detach his arm. “I’m not your enemy,” he insists.

“No Seals. Magic,” Yachi repeats, and as her eyes widen with fear, her hand tightens around his wrist. “You’re magic.”

“Not magic,” Kenma says. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Then why? Why— the store?”

“I told you. Books are nice.”

“Yachi, you said he was okay,” he says because the cold paranoia is starting to eat Yachi whole.

Something about that brings her to her senses, because she drops Kenma’s wrist and stumbles back. Her mana’s still low, and he can see it through her shallow breaths as she drops back against him.

“I’ll go,” Kenma whispers, scraping his back against the wall.

“See you on your next shift,” Hinata responds, but he remembers that his own wants aren’t the most important thing anymore. He looks to Yachi for confirmation, but she’s looking at the ground with tired eyes. When he looks back towards Kenma, all he manages to catch is the crunch of shoes on the scattered debris.

Broken concrete, dust, and twisted metal. The only funeral for an enemy.

Hinata was never fond of dolls, but he thought the doll his little sister had was always pretty. Even if he wanted one, he couldn’t have one because he had a _responsibility_ , and responsibility meant readings in the archives and hours listening to advice under candlelight, not rides in palanquins and pretty dolls. 『 』had given her one as a gift from far away, and it arrived with silk robes and painted lips. She later smashed it, caving its face in with her thumb and tearing its arms off. She’d always had such sharp nails. By the time he found it, it was a mess of torn silk and porcelain shards.

“I wanted to see what would happen,” she’d said when he asked, and then shrugged like it didn’t matter.

He has a feeling he wouldn’t have stopped her.

“Hinata,” Yachi says in the present, achy and exhausted. “Take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help giving this AU a shot.  
> If you want to chat, I'm also at [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ragna_infinity) or [tumblr](http://www.plumfragments.tumblr.com).  
> 


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